Sinless
by Sybilline Vane
Summary: They all had the same objective: to bring Noxus, the one nation where their loyalty lies, back to its original ideals. Yet why did they eventually walk separate paths? Why are they torn, deceived, betrayed, wounded beyond repair by those they thought could be trusted...loved? And why, sinless as they are, have unintentional crimes stained their hands so?
1. Prologue: Talon

**A/N: Slightly AU to original Valoran though not much change.**  
 **Will be multiple storylines, but mostly focusing on the Du Couteaus.**  
 **Rated T for possible adult themes and coarse language. Definitely will not be any lemons or smut-scenes because I just don't do that.**  
 **Please please review if you liked this story, or if you didn't. I appreciate ego-boosters and criticism alike.**  
 **Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story except maybe a few minor OCs. I'd totally love to though.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **[Talon]**

He was dreaming.

The second Talon realized his surroundings he knew. It was not the first time his dreams have taken him here, for in the past few days he returns to this place whenever his eyes are closed, always in the same place, always the same scenario.

It was strange. He always slept lightly and dreamlessly, and even if occasional flashes of color or sound disturbed his rest, he tended to forget them before morning came. Never like how these dreams haunted him lately. Never before could he wake up remembering every detail, down to the scent, of something he experienced in his sleep.

But now, every night when he rested, he dreamt the same dream. He knew the dream from his memories, those that he thought he no longer had impression of but are now coming back to him in a different form.

And tonight it was no different.

In this dream he was little again, a child of ten or eleven, bruised and bloodied from fights in the streets over stolen coin but dressed in new clothing that was unfamiliar—and so finely tailored that it was uncomfortable as well—to the child of his past. Following the middle-aged man in front of him, a man whose face he never saw in the dreams but knew very well who it was, he slowly descended down several flights of stairs until the air was growing stale and a chilliness crept silently unto him.

It felt like a descent down to some unearthly place in every dream, with the stone-carved monstrous faces staring at him from the wall, and without any type of weapon at hand he felt afraid. It was silly, of course. He knew too well that idols can't hurt him in any way, unless he was careless enough to bruise himself on the hard rock that stuck out in menacing poses, but he was without his blades for the first time in years…and it made him feel vulnerable.

Stealing an unsure glance at the man who was leading him, he wondered if this person will attack him, and toyed around in his mind with the possibility.

Perhaps he could react fast enough to block one or two blows with his bare arms, but it would definitely hurt like hell. Or he could probably dodge and take the risk of being hit fatally if he failed. And then, if he could find a chance, it would be easy enough to snatch a weapon and fight back; he eyed the numerous knives and daggers that hung from the other man's belt and tries to mimic the motion of stealing one when his voice, stern and quiet whilst filled with a tone of authority, stopped the young Talon's thoughts.

"We're here."

He looked up to see the double oak doors, each covered with engraved runes, letters of the Noxian language and pictures displaying scenes of war, towering over him. They looked unbelievably heavy. Carefully he tilted his head in attempt to read the Noxian letters, but before his limited education allowed him to guess out the first line, they were opened, revealing the enormous room behind.

It was cold.

That was his immediate impression when he first set foot onto the training space below the Du Couteau mansion; it was mid-summer but the air felt like autumn winds, eerily cool, though not in a bad way.

Suspiciously he surveyed the space: racks and racks of weapons decorated the walls, human-shaped dummies made of wood or straw littered the floor or hung from the ceiling, and swerving lanterns lit the space, along with a tall row of barred windows on one side of the wall, reminding him of the prison he had to stay in once for being caught at stealing.

But if anything, this place was much, much gloomier than prison…he stared intensively at the dark marks on the smooth stone-paved floor, a shade of reddish-brown, forming shapes with irregular but curved edges.

It reminded him much of dry blood.

After being finished with observing the inanimate objects, which took him not too long, he turned his attention to the only other person in the room besides them: a girl with choppy red hair, slightly younger than he was, with sharp emerald eyes that shone like illuminated emerald stones. She was clad in boyish clothing—he had to check her delicate features several times to be sure that it was no boy because of this—and slashing furiously at a wooden figure that looked like it could fall to pieces any second with slender daggers in both hands. Her eyes were intensely focused on her target, sparing not the slightest attention for them, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the man nodding in approval.

"Katarina."

She snapped her head immediately towards them upon hearing her name being voiced, and her body soon after. Still panting and drenched in sweat, she raised her weapons in a salute, one that he saw soldiers performing to their superiors, and greeted in a clear, ringing voice, "sir."

He saw her eyes flicker slightly to acknowledge his presence, but made no greeting to him, nor did she spare any of her attention on him.

"What is the creed of our family?" the person who led him here asked, in the same stern voice that he had grown to respect.

A slight look of questioning formed between her brows, but she answered obediently, "Never let the light expose your blade, and never let your heart submerge it."

"Good." the praise that came from this man seemed barely genuine; he could hear the layers of ice that covered it up plainly, though it seemed to light her face up entirely. Turning to him, the commanding voice continued, "heard it, Talon? From now on, I would expect you to live by it as well."

He pondered for a second on this so-called creed, and found it amusing enough that already he knew this through years of experience in the slums. Nonetheless he still repeated it quietly, tasting every syllable on his tongue, until the short sentence was imprinted precisely in his mind.

He nodded in silent reply, and could sense that the man was pleased.

The red-headed girl was staring openly at him now. Katarina, that was her name, wasn"t it? He wondered who she was; perhaps another apprentice under the training of the man, just like what he was going to be. She had a fierce look to her, the girl, and her gaze felt like it was searing through layers of his flesh. It burned.

He adverted his eyes and compared her to the girls he had seen in the slums, fighting over cheap, cracked jewelry, trying to pamper their bodies and faces for the favor of some unknown man with money in his pockets.

How pathetically different they were.

"I see you have been training hard." The man stated, his voice still devoid of much emotion though marked with a lack of the indifference that filled his tone when they conversed, "this is Talon. He is around your age and quite talented as you are. From now on you two will be training together. Talon, this is my daughter, Katarina."

So she was a girl of high birth then, instead of a slum child like him. Shouldn"t girls of her status be in silk dresses and wearing stupidly heavy necklaces instead of sticking knives in dummies? He wondered to himself silently but did not speak.

For a moment they just stood and surveyed each other, taking in every detail, and he was unsure of what to do. He wouldn't just walk forward and make a self-introduction; if they were to "train together", he felt pretty sure that meant they would be fighting against the other frequently, and it was never good for an enemy to know too much of him before they even clashed. Besides that, his options were pretty much limited to continue his stiff silent stance, with only a slight nod indicating a greeting of some sort.

Fortunately for him, she opened her mouth to speak first. But the voice that came out was not one fitting to her appearance—it was too mature, sharp and biting and with a raspy texture to it, a harsh order that dared him to refute. It was the voice of the Katarina he knew of more recent years, and coming from the wild-eyed child it seemed endlessly eerie.

 _"Run, Talon, run now. As far as you can…don't look back…go."_

Suddenly the dream was broken. Faces and sound became contorted, twisting and morphing into unrecognizable beings, mingling with screams and sobs and the sound of blades scraping against each other, and the scent of blood came seeping out of his dream. Slowly but surely it spread, consuming every inch of space there was, until he felt entrapped and suffocating, and pain flared suddenly through his limbs. It was spiraling…uncontrollably…towards a nightmare.

And he woke.

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Talon woke to a canopy of leaves that blocked most of the sky from view. Slightly confused, he lay still for several moments just sensing the air for danger, until finally his memories, distorted by the unsettling dream that came to him every night, swiftly pieced themselves together.

He propped himself up on one arm and turned to face the white-haired woman, who was carefully poking dry dead sticks into the flickering bonfire, the flames tinting her skin and hair a light shade of orange-red. Noticing his wake, she threw the last of the brittle leaves and wood into the fire, and spoke with a quiet voice.

"About time for your watch."

Nodding slightly he changed places with Riven in one quick, deft motion, and sat cross-legged in front of the well-tended flames, pulling his hood down further so to conceal his easily lighted face. Her rune sword lay silently at the side, between them, and the flickering light gave the broken blade a strange beauty of its own. Without much to do while keeping watch, he eventually took to marveling at this heavy weapon that he had no idea how she could wield with ease, the ragged broken surface that allowed light to bounce off in a dozen different directions, and the runes carved into it that glowed softly with a life of their own.

For the entire half-night of his vigil he could just sit and stare at her weapon. It reminded him, somehow, of the light blades that Katarina used, though these were not the least alike in usage or form. Absentmindedly his fingers traced the runes, cool to his touch and slightly shimmering before the fire.

In the same way both the sword and the slim blades of Du Couteau's were beautiful…beautiful in a deadly way that one would never fully understand until the edge of cold steel kisses skin and draws blood.

A sudden voice interrupted his thoughts. "You were dreaming, weren't you?"

He withdrew his hand that was resting on Riven's sword and turned to face her. The white-haired woman was supposed to be asleep, but instead he found himself staring eye to eye with her, with every single flickering flame perfectly reflected in her liquid fiery irises. She repeated herself again, as if seeing that her question wasn't quite clear, "just before you woke up for your watch, you were dreaming. Am I right?"

As reply, he gave a hard stare and shook his head once, a quick but certain motion, then returned his gaze to the cold sword that seemed to glare back at him.

"No, you were." She insisted with an air of annoyance that he has ever only known on Katarina before, "you were tossing and turning, very restlessly. I don't recall you sleeping like that while we lived together in the Crimson Elite."

Damn, what, did this woman stare at him all night when they were together in the same barracks, years ago? He cursed inwardly, pulling down the tip of his hood even further. Of course he didn't dream in that time. He never did until recently, until he was again running away like a gutter rat in a self-forced exile. But why would she know, or care, for that matter?

"I wasn't dreaming, Riven. It's not something that I do."

She eyed him with suspicion, as if tearing straight through his simple lie, and followed up with another question, "is it about the Lady Du Couteau?"

He made no reply at all this time, in fear that if he tries to think of an answer he may just snap right then and there. Riven was being like a child, poking around with his personal problems, and, if anything, he did and would not appreciate it. So instead he chose to stay silent, toying around quietly with the runes that decorated her sword.

Riven did not push further and soon fell asleep.

It felt like a long night to him, the first in many, as he mused in the familiar tranquility that settled around the fire. He was used to waiting in the darkness, and his patience was always plentiful, so it was not an uncomfortable condition for him to be in; but it was one that offered very little distractions to his mind, for there was no target to focus himself on and no danger to guard himself against, and the only thing that he could do was to allow his thoughts to roam on the queer dreams of late.

The dream, the one with himself becoming a child again and meeting Katarina for the first time, was also not a rare occasion lately. But it was the first time that her voice, the voice not of a girl but of a grown assassin, came to him in his dreams as well.

He finally seemed to realize that it was haunting him. The parting words that she left was like wisps of smoke that will never fade away from his mind, forever there, forever whispering in secret languages only understood by them and nobody else…like a shadow, like a ghost, he could not rid these words from himself.

It was haunting him.

" _Run, Talon, just go."_

She was haunting him.

" _Never look back, never return. Please."_

Katarina, the Sinister Blade of Noxus, was haunting him with every single memory that included her within.

" _Run, Talon…or I will kill you."_

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 **A/N: I know this is a Talon/Kat fic and starting off with a Talon/Riven scene may not just be the best option, but trust me.**  
 **I generally try to keep my chapters long unless there's really not much to write about in one, and school isn't being too easy, so updates may be sparse. I'll try to maintain a steady pace though.**  
 **And I always try to not OOC as much as I can, so do tell me if you think I did, I'd very much appreciate that.**


	2. Chapter 1: Katarina

**A/N: The internet at home got messed up yesterday so this chapter came slightly later than I planned. Finals are coming up and I'm surprised that I even got so much time on hand to write-I'm probably throwing away my final grades, whatever.  
Thank you Chi's Creed for reviewing this! I'll try to reply all the reviews with PM though unless I find my reply with something worthy to stick in the Author's Notes. Please review :D  
Another Chapter with not a lot of anything occurring in it.**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **[Katarina]**

It was near noon, and the outdoor fleshing arena did not provide Katarina with any sort of shelter from the blazing sun, beating its merciless beams straight down onto her exposed skin. Dressed in her usual leathers that offered little protection against sunlight, she squinted in attempt to make out the shapes far below in the field, though all she could see was dark figures, distinctively human, contorted by the waves of heat.

Usually she enjoyed such events. Having just won a skirmish along the borders of Shurima, there were plenty of war prisoners that had to be taken care of, which promised that the Fleshing today was going to be bloody enough for her taste. And watching people fight for their lives often taught her some new techniques, a different way to dodge a swipe or a more efficient way of parrying, things like that which were minor but useful.

Yet after half an hour of her time on the spectator's seat, she found this to be a collection of tasteless matches, with no competitor surviving past their third round. It offered little moves that she could learn from and even less entertainment.

Her arms crossed and she leaned back on the seat, already warm from the sunlight, and frowned in impatience. The man in the arena was down to his last opponent, with two bodies lying in the sand. From where she sat it was difficult to make out their faces, if they haven't covered them up with helmets, and all she could make out was the gleam of their weapons—one an axe, the other using a three-pronged weapon that she was unfamiliar with but looked surprisingly like her dinner fork, only magnified—and their blurry motions.

With not a lot of better options to occupy her attention, she watched attentively, and scoffed inwardly at their moves. Their swipes and thrusts were so clumsy she could have easily dodged them when she was seven; their footwork so sloppy that with one blow she was confident to knock either off their feet. _Pathetic_. Throwing these people into the ring was just pathetic and nothing else; they didn't even put up enough of a fight to be entertaining.

Quickly she gave up trying to keep her attention on the fight, and turned to other ways that could perhaps lessen her boredom.

Eventually she settled on making a quick scan of the arena, in the way she usually scanned her surroundings when on missions: searching deliberately for anywhere that she could make a quick getaway with, eyeing the crowds carefully for any viewer that may seem to pose a threat, looking for places where she could hide easily out of view or where she would have an advantage in combat. However, it proofed to be of limited use: the perfectly round arena did not offer much mystery in its structure and layout, and she finished quicker than she would have liked. Picking through the crowds and sorting face after face was a more time-consuming chore though, enough to keep her quite occupied for the moment, though she was bound to be bored again soon after.

Glancing sideways to check on her little sister, she saw that Cassiopeia was not enjoying this much either. Her lips were slightly curved downwards into an angle of displeasure, and her thin brows furrowed, but even with such an expression her face was still beautiful under the shade of the chocolate-colored parasol that rested on her shoulder. Unlike her, who was probably looking like a sulking three-year-old.

It was, after all, a practiced show of discontent that would not mar the young Du Couteau's beauty.

She felt slightly uncomfortable contemplating on this. Everything that Cassiopeia did was so carefully rehearsed and then staged, from her choice of words to her facial expressions to how she arranged and treated her long line of suitors, all for the benefit of Noxus and their house. It did no harm to her, of course. Yet there has always been a shadow of doubt lodging in the back of her mind, ever since her sister returned in triumph for the first time with information that she seduced out of enemies, wondering if she was being treated honestly or just as another piece in the delicately orchestrated show of hers.

Whatever. She shrugged her wandering thoughts off and turned her attention back to the arena, trying to look as interested as she could. For all that she suspected her sister, they were of blood, and blood bonded deep. Unlike her and Talon…

Katarina flinched inwardly at the thought and immediately forced her mind onto something else. Fortunately for her, the man who was fighting finally succeeded in killing his third and last enemy for this round with one fierce cleave of his axe deep into the abdomen, then tearing it out to raise his blade in victory, and the crowd offered enough distractions with their screams and applauses.

The first today to survive his third round; at last, things were getting real. With slight hopes that this person would not be such a large disappointment as the others before him, she bent forward with anticipation, but Cassiopeia stood up almost immediately, "sister, let us go home."

"Why, Cass? Afraid of the blood and fun that's coming up next?" she expected that her sister would act like so, and with slightly raised eyebrows she taunted. Ever since their childhood Cass has never enjoyed events that were so brutal; until now she still hasn't, and it was one of the few things that she could tower over her sister on, so she never wasted a chance on teasing her, "come on, the guts and gore are just starting to spill."

Cassiopeia scrunched up her pretty nose, whimpering childishly. "Sister, please. Let us go."

She could see a thin watery mist forming over those almond-shaped amber eyes.

Fuck. How did she ever manage to just _produce_ tears whenever she wants? Hers always came at the wrong moments or never did at all. She stared with no intent of hiding her amazement. It never failed to awe her and never failed to soften her either.

With a sigh, Katarina rose from her seat, following behind her sister quietly as her faithful escort as they exited the arena without attracting much attention. Just as they stepped out of the back exit of the arena, another roar of the audience boomed in their ears, except this time it was not in acclaim. She turned back to give one last glance at the ring, only to see the man-he seemed to be in his thirties or so, much older than what she expected-fall to the axe of his opponents, one of the five who came up to meet him and the last one to remain standing.

So he wasn't much of a fighter after all.

Disappointed at his performance but glad that she did not have to miss out an exciting match, she quickly turned back and followed her sister outside, catching up with her easily since Cassiopeia never walked at a brisker pace than a leisurely walk.

They caught their driver, a young boy that came from a family of servants to the Du Couteaus, asleep in the hay bale beside the mares that he was supposed to take groom while they were watching the competitions. Not anticipating their return until several hours later, he was utterly terrorized and apologized over and over until Cass soothed him with a comforting voice that they would not tell of his mistakes, so long as he did not commit them again.

She could hardly suppress a snort. If anything, her sister would be the first to report the boy's negligence of duty to father, and then only hell knows what will happen. She merely ordered the boy to harness the horses and prepare to send them home in a stiff tone, and watched as he hurried off to do so.

"You must be kinder to the servants, sister." Cassiopeia scolded her once the boy was out of earshot, smoothing out the ruffles in her long forest-green dress that she wore to the Fleshing today, "there's a lot you must work on your etiquette and manners. This would never do. And father too, you both are just so harsh to everybody—not everyone is a soldier, sister dear."

"I don't see the need to hide my displeasure of his faults." she shrugged and drew a knife from her belt, one short and light for throwing, and absentmindedly toyed with it between her fingers, causing the other girl to wince visibly.

"Sister," her voice lowered so to not be overheard, and as if to emphasize her point she grabbed Katarina's forearm with an iron grip that wasn't so easy to shake off as it was always before, "the household servants are with us every day and night, and they can gather innumerable amounts of information just by overhearing our chit-chats at the table, not to mention every single one of them knows perfectly our daily routines and where our sleeping chambers are." she stared with her amber eyes, clear and warm yet boring deeply into the other's, "you understand me, don't you?"

She lowered her knife, paused to return her stare, and frowned. Of course she was not stupid to grasp the concept that her sister was talking of, but it was strange of her to suddenly try and enforce the idea unto her. From past experiences, Cass usually gave up at trying to correct her obnoxious behavior with an exasperated groan, instead of talking in such a stern voice that reminded her of mother.

"Is there something coming up soon? Something that you plotted with father?" she eyed her sister with suspicion and replied in a half teasing tone, "something that you kept from me? Is that why you are suddenly so eager to mold me into a lady?"

"I—we'd never, Kat." seeing that the boy has returned with their ride, she gave her hand one last light squeeze, and then walked forwards with a light and pretty smile plastered to her face, accepting his help and giving a seemingly very genuine "thank-you" before seating herself on one side.

Katarina scowled in disbelief and swiftly walked to the carriage as well, not sparing one glance for the boy and climbing in easily herself. Cassiopeia slightly sighed in disapproval once the doors were closed.

"So why then, sister?" she tried her best to mimic the tone of Cass, but she could never reproduce the sweetness of her voice, instead sounding like a man trying to sing in falsetto.

Through layers of curtains she could make out the faint cry of the boy and lashing of horsewhips, and their vehicle started rolling down the streets of Noxus, with summer dust scattering due to the turmoil of wooden wheels. She laid back onto the softly cushioned seat in rare laziness, sprawled out in the most un-ladylike posture, and started fiddling with her knives again. It was a habit she cultivated years ago to relieve the dreary waits during missions, and habits die hard.

The brunette wrapped up her parasol with care and turned to face her sister, answering with her voice low, "We are in Noxus after all. You'll never know when one of those low-born servants could betray us for a handful of coin if they aren't happy enough." She paused for a second for emphasis, peering carefully through the slits between boards that separated them from the driver to see if he has heard, and went on again carefully, "These people know no such thing as loyalty, Kat, and with father's position you can be plenty sure that he has at least as much enemies as friends, and handfuls of rich ones who could afford the price. I wouldn't risk it."

Even though she despised politics and all the dirty stuff that occurred behind men of high positions, Katarina was not completely ignorant on it. It was something inevitable when one was the daughter of a General. But to hear facts that she long knew it from her sister's mouth…it made it different, somehow.

She replied with her usual unserious tone, flipping the knife across her fingers and catching it with perfect precision, "and I wouldn't care, Cass. Whoever betrays the Du Couteau house would get a knife in his back, and nothing else."

"You always say that, Kat." The tone in her voice was strangely near the whine of a child's.

"It's the way things work in Noxus, isn't it?" she smirked in a way that hinted smugness.

Her sister replied by rolling her eyes and wrinkling her nose a tiny bit, all while continuing to look flawless, "but violence is so _messy_."

Upon hearing that she laughed, balancing the sharp blade between her fingers carefully, and eyed Cassiopeia with a strange look that signaled suppressed laughter beneath, "then I don't quite get the point of you dragging me to the Fleshing today. I thought you should hate events like this."

"I do." She stated simply, crossing her hands in front of her, with a light frown forming on her forehead, "only because I thought that you would enjoy it. You didn't seem to, though."

What a bunch of crap. Katarina raised her eyebrows in questioning, knowing that whatever her sister did, it was done to reach a purpose of sorts. And keeping her happy has never been on the top of Cass" target list.

She grew up with her, knowing her better than most people on Valoran, and she would be a total fool to fall for her soft, loving words on friendship and family. The only reason—if there was any at all—that the brunette kept brainless, shallow, so-called "friends" was because they could be used somehow, either to reach someone of power in their families or to make her social parties seem to be events of more importance, or something along that line. With her family Cassiopeia was loyal and caring, yes, but not to the point where she would waste a morning of valuable time that she could be using to date men for information or at least pamper up her hair more.

It was plain foolish to just waste it away at round after round of badly fought games.

"You practically forced me to come as escort, Cass. I refused you several times until you quite literally took me by the arm and pushed me onto this carriage." She pointed out tiredly, her head resting on her left fist, and continued in a light, teasing tone, "please, just stop all that loving nonsense. Don't you think that this trick is becoming slightly cliché now, between you and me?"

She bit her lower lip and slightly swerved, though Katarina was sure that it was just either a part of her exquisitely planned act or a result of the sudden turn that the carriage had to take. Silence settled for quite a while until she finally spoke in answer, in the most unwilling manner possible.

"Fine. I also came because the Fleshing is one of the most celebrated and prominent events of Noxus, it's such a rare occurring, and such a wonderful chance to start off rumors. Wouldn't do for the Du Couteau family to completely not be present at the scene, right?"

She stared uncomprehendingly at her little sister, flipped her knife over again, not seeing how it could affect the family in any way just because they didn't go to watch a bunch of pheasants kill each other. Cassiopeia continued with a slightly exasperated tone in her voice.

"If we don't show up to such a significant event, how will other Noxians, even ordinary citizens, view us? While all the other major houses of the high command will surely be present? And since father's been lying low for the past few months, about time we remind Noxus that our house still stands, too."

Politics and more politics, then. That was what everything came down to with the youngest of the Du Couteau sisters. Katarina sighed and dangled the knife by its point; it was too complicated and too irritating for her to care.

"The Fleshing is an event meant for _entertainment_ , Cass. You come to enjoy yourself, not to play more games with power and influence and reputation."

The carriage halted suddenly, making her knife slip and fall to her seat, piercing the leather covering slightly which made her sister wince.

"Nothing is so simple like that in Noxus, Kat. Father will want you to learn that as well."

No, nothing is so simple, and of course she knew. She knew this firsthand, that everything in this nation was covered by layers of deception and lies, and as much as she loved the country, they tired her. With a sigh she picked up the knife and slipped it back into her belt, patting the tough leather holster, "it's simple enough to me. Whoever betrays us gets a knife stuck into him, and that's all I care for."

"You never know." Cassiopeia smiled in a strange way, smoothing out her dress out of habit rather than need, and her voice was tinted with sadness, "even those you trust are prone to betrayal. And your knives can't solve all the problems, good as you are with them…like with Talon, you know—"

That's it. That was all she needed to snap. She had enough of everybody whispering of his "betrayal", labeling him something she knew he wasn't. Her father, the servants, the other men of the high command. And now even her sister as well? She thought at least Cass, with her deft and clever mind, could sympathize with her somehow.

And she was wrong.

Despite she knew they were home and the carriage door could open any moment, she grabbed her sister's wrist—slender and frail like the stem of a flower—and glared into her amber eyes with green ones, hissing menacingly into her ear. "Talon did not betray us. You understand me, Cass? He did not. He just left, that's all he did. He wouldn't betray us. _Ever_."

She saw her sister blinking in surprise, struggling to retract her hand with little success, "calm down, Kat. Father won't be pleased to see this."

"I don't care what father will think." she spat venomously, and she knew she would regret saying this once Cass whispered it into their father's ear, but for now she couldn't care less, "he did not betray us, he only left. They are different."

Her anger got the best of her, and she knew it was bad. It was dangerous to let her emotions have their own way, she knew, and it changed nothing. If she grew furious her anger lashed out without caring who the subject was, sometimes even on herself, and now it was on Cassiopeia. It was wrong and incorrect and unfitting and a thousand other things, but she really did not care.

"You really need to work on temper management, sister," came her only answer. Tugging with more force she tried to free her hand, eyeing the red-head coolly, "let go of me, you won't want the servants to see this. You'll be plenty sure they'll report back to father."

No matter the servants saw this or not, word will reach their father anyways, Katarina knew. She cursed herself inwardly for being so rash again—and in front of her sister, of all people—and let go, though still bearing a scowl towards her.

It wasn't that she wanted to maintain any sort of impression to the butler, it was that she would not allow her sister the chance of smiling and claiming the source of father's information on somebody else. Years back she has forced a warning upon every person of the household on knifepoint, making them swear to never leak a word of her quarrels with her sister to Marcus Du Couteau, but her father still knew of them anyways. She was long certain that it was her sister doing the tattle-tailing, and she didn't care and couldn't stop her anyways.

The door was opened. Cassiopeia, still rubbing her wrist, turned with a pretty smile on her face and climbed out first, opening her parasol and strolled with a light pace towards the door. She jumped out of the high vehicle right after, squinting her eyes beneath the bright sunlight, blinking furiously in attempt to adjust and calm herself, when her sister's voice came ringing clearly.

"I don't care, sister dear, even if he went away to take a little holiday in Ionia. You know the rules better than I do, don't you?" she turned and smiled to her older sibling, twirling her parasol in her hands, "What is the crime of a soldier leaving on his own without the permission of his commanding officer, for any kind of reason? It is negligence of his duty, at the least, if not betrayal; and is punishable by death, am I correct?"

She stared at the back of the brunette, rooted to the spot, until she disappeared behind double doors, and cursed under her breath. Her sister was correct, of course. The cunning girl always won. As long as Talon was away, they could assume he was doing anything, and there would be nobody to prove that he was not. Even if they admitted that he did not give any information concerning Noxus" military or anything of the such, he was still a deserter, and the laws of Noxus never favored people of this type.

He was in huge trouble.

And she was the one that put him there. By telling him to run. By forcing him to desert. If she was found out, the entire reputation of the Du Couteau family would shatter, and she would be found guilty of crime alongside with him.

Fuck. Why did she not think of that _before_ telling him to go?

Cursing herself on being such a fool and not taking the consequences into concern, she prepared to sprint off to the back yard to fiddle with some of the dummies there to take her mind off this topic, when the voice of a servant called to stop her.

"Lady Katarina, your father requests your presence immediately, once you are home. He would be in his study."

Trouble before her sister even reported what happened on the carriage today? She raised an eyebrow and gulped down her discomfort, and turned on her heels to head back.

Something else nagged at her constantly still, besides that she just woke to the truth of what she got Talon into; thinking back at her sister's words, she realized that Cassiopeia said…Ionia. And probably not because it was the first place she could think of off her mind, but for a specific reason too.

If she knew that Talon was in Ionia…oh, great. That meant Noxian spies were on his trail, reporting whatever he did back to the High Command, and waiting for the moment to seize him back here. Great.

Tiredly she pinched at the bridge of her nose, but her brisk pace did not pause a moment. As much as she was agitated, it wouldn't do to keep their father waiting.

* * *

Katarina remembered to knock, thrice, and waited with whatever little patience she owned. The last time she barged right into her father's study did not end well; apparently the General Du Couteau has some sort of magic attached to his door to prevent intruders, being the ever careful man that he was. She nearly died in her own father's room.

The wait until a cold, aged voice rang out, muffled by the wooden doors, was torturous, "who is it?"

"I've heard that you asked for me, sir." she replied politely, though ultimately stiff. She was habitually tapping her sides, where her blades usually rested, but there was no cold, smooth handle there that could come into contact with her fingertips; to remove all weapons in the presence of a superior was a concept hammered into her mind many years back.

It made her feel vulnerable without a dagger that she could easily reach, though there was two small knives that she kept hidden right next to her skin, beneath her leather garments, and it was a secret that even her father did not know of. Rules or not, she did not like to be completely helpless should she be attacked.

A small pause. Then an order. "Come in."

She obeyed and slowly turned the knob, cool and rusty beneath her fingers, while raising up one arm to block in front of her body in a defensive pose.

The musty smell of carpet and a flash of silver greeted her at the same time.

Expecting it, she sidestepped immediately, avoiding the throwing knife that pinned itself firmly on the wall behind her, which was already littered with various marks left by weapons. Though still not quite fast enough; the blade brought down several strands of her crimson hair along with it, scattering them on the carpet.

"You have learnt well." the man seated behind his desk glanced up, pushing his drawer—which she assumed was the storage place for all those little trinkets that he never failed to produce when she entered—back into place, "but your movements must be swifter then that. And there was no need to move your entire body; tilting your head alone would have sufficed. What you did could have wasted unnecessary stamina and time, should you do it hundreds of times over in combat."

"Yes, sir." she quietly responded, turning to carefully pry the knife from where it was embedded into wood. Doing it slowly so to not bend the sharp, thin blade, she took her time and then turned to walk slowly over, handing the knife, hilt-first, towards her father, which he accepted with a slight nod.

"Sit." motioning to the empty chair in front of his desk he turned back to his work, dipping the quill back into ink and finishing whatever he was doing when she came in. She accepted the invitation and sat down, hands folded on her lap, waiting with shallow patience and deep frustration.

There wasn't even a blade for her to toy with to pass the time.

After what seemed like eons of waiting, her father finally put down his quill and started to lightly press a piece of blotting paper against the parchment, leaving only the ink necessary behind. She watched wordlessly as his typical, neat handwriting faded to a shade of deep brown, and passed him the lit candle at the far corner of the table, helping to drip wax onto the carefully folded letter and earning another nod of approval from the man. He pressed the seal of the Du Couteau family into it firmly and raised it with care, waiting until he was certain that the wax has set to move the letter out of the way, and rang a bell to call in a servant.

Then he managed to spare some attention for her.

"How was the Fleshing today, Katarina?" was his first question, which surprised her quite a bit. The general Marcus Du Couteau was definitely not the type to make small talk with anybody, including his daughters; he did not waste time on such petty socializing events. Her mind took half a second to process his words, and then slowly gave the reply.

"It was…fine, sir, though it not quite as entertaining as I would have expected." she paused for a moment to rethink her words, and added with a slightly sharp tone, "Cass didn"t enjoy it either. To be honest, I am surprised that any spectator did."

He chuckled lightly. "And I would be surprised if your sister would enjoy an event such as Fleshing at all. Boring as it was, however, for you two to be present there was necessary. I"m sure Cassiopeia explained it to you already? I did ask her to, if the subject was brought up."

So it was no coincidence that Cass was suddenly so motivated to educate her in politics, then, she mused silently to herself but nodded in reply to her father, "yes, she did." Though it still did not make any sense, she added to herself silently.

"Good. I would expect you to grow up and learn these things soon, Katarina, you have already delayed them for too long." he flipped through the neatly stacked files on his table, scanning each page swiftly and occasional dwelling on one while he spoke. A servant boy knocked and was called in by her father during this, and with soft words he ordered the young boy to deliver the newly-sealed letter to whomever's address was on there. The boy hurried out again, eyes glued to the floor, not even seeming to notice her presence.

She gave the stacks of paperwork a glance and felt a headache coming just by seeing all those words and words, crammed together tightly or scrawled by the messy hand of some front-line commander, and quickly averted her eyes.

It all seemed extremely tedious and she couldn't be less interested.

Her small motions did not escape the watchfulness of the other skilled assassin, and though he still seemed concentrated on his paperwork, without raising his head Marcus spoke, "stop behaving like a child. You must learn how to deal with such responsibilities, as I would expect you to succeed to my position in the future, instead of merely being a killer."

She mumbled a consent, as well as "why don't you just give the job to Cass", neither which escaped the keen ears of his. With a sigh he lay down the file that he was halfway through from finishing, and looked at her evenly, with his eyes, the same emerald shade as hers, boring right into her mind.

"You are talented with your blades and your fighting skills, Katarina. That I would praise you on. But that is not enough." his tone cooled slightly, becoming sterner and more serious, the tone he would use in public with her, "you must learn the skills that your sister fights with as well. It is necessary."

Without waiting for any reply of hers, he continued evenly, pulling out a thin, brown-covered envelope and handing it over to her. "This contains my schedule for tomorrow, and I would expect you to follow me for the day. And every day after that as well. I will give you time to train, but you will do it in the training center of the High Command, so that I can find you when it is needed. Am I clear?"

She stared, horrified, at the envelope, as if it contained demons that would be released on contact, but had no choice but to take it with an unwilling hand.

"Am I clear, Katarina?"

"Yes, sir." her voice was that of a timid child's, "I understand."

"Very well, then." he went back to the file he temporarily put down before, and she continued to stare at the envelope in hand. _What_ the fuck. First with the Fleshing turning out to be a huge disappointment, then lost a bickering with her sister, and now this.

Just how much worse could her day get?

Her horrors were answered quickly, for the General did not stay silent for long. Another statement came her way, one that was much more piercing and painful.

"And about Talon."

She quickly changed the subject of her gaze to the floor and bit her lower lip, for the sake of calming herself and forcing focus. It was not one of the topics she enjoyed talking about with her father.

"I ordered you on a search for him a week ago. Have you had any progress? Leads of some sort, perhaps, or at least a good guess on his whereabouts?"

His eyes were focused on her, she knew without even looking up. She had no idea on how could she possibly force out an answer to his question, having not even attempted to look for him at all, and for now she has no idea on where on Valoran can Talon possibly be. Still wandering somewhere in the forests of Ionia, she guessed, but couldn't be sure. And even if she was certain, it was too vague an answer for her father to accept.

More importantly…she wouldn't, and couldn't, risk having him caught. It would likely mean the end of him and possibly her too, and the entire house of Du Couteau.

It all started as a rash, split-second decision, and ended up in a tangled mess that was impossible to clean up. And now, no matter what happens, he must find refuge away from Noxus, or consequences would be dire.

The thought caused turmoil in her belly and did not help one bit with her already mortifying lying skills. From what she heard by her sister's voice, it was likely that they already found traces of him in Ionia, and there was no use to bother with trying to lie her way around that. So instead, she chose to be as unclear as she possibly could.

"No, sir. I am sorry. The best I could guess is that he would be somewhere in Ionia…but he could have well changed places by now. Maybe even found his way into Demacia; I am clueless."

She looked up and exchanged looks with her father, and that moment she knew that she overdid it. Right, because nobody who even knew Talon would think that he will hide in Demacia, of all places; it was a city too bright and dazzling for him to adjust to, and even brief missions into the arch-enemy city-state disgusted him.

She wanted to slap herself on the face.

Her father, however, simply raised an eyebrow. "Fine, then. I will give you more men for this purpose, and will expect some sort of more accurate information in half a month. Do not disappoint me, Katarina."

"I won't, sir." It came out barely more than a whisper.

A dreaded silence descended between them for a brief moment, and with a nearly caring voice he continued, slowly but sternly.

"I know you have always been… _close_ to him, Kat. And I know you viewed him more as a sibling, unlike your sister." he paused, as if searching for the right words to use, and she felt her insides twist uncontrollably, "…but he is a declared enemy of the state, and he must be caught and brought back. You have to understand this; don't let your emotions get the better of you. I'm sorry, Katarina, but you have to."

 _What._

Her mind was completely focused on the "enemy of the state" part, and all the rest seemed like a barely audible hum. When. How. Why. Such a declaration was made and she had not heard a single word about it before now. Why do they even bother so? To have a reason to raise the bounty placed on his head, though there was plenty already? Why do they even care so much about the life of one man, barely in his twenties, who came from the slums? Deserter, traitor…and now he was branded with a new title.

All because of her.

Her expression must have been contorted enough to earn a disapproving frown from her father. Without thinking, she blurted out, "and then? What will happen to him then, after he is caught and brought back?" It was after she finished her sentence did Katarina remember that a soldier was not supposed to question their superiors, or even talk without being asked to, but though there was disapproval writ across his face, the General answered anyways.

"I suppose that execution would occur. Though by what means…I am not sure." his eyebrows furrowed and continued on, leaving her in speechless horror, "I talked to General Swain today, and Talon's matter was briefly discussed; Swain expressed the wish that, if he was caught alive and brought back, he would be executed by means of Fleshing instead of by the hands of that young man Draven."

No. No, no, no, she would not see Talon fight in that cruel ring of sand, against opponent after opponent with no hope of survival, to have his death be laughed at and applauded to by the citizens of Noxus. No. It was too much. She will not allow this, never, never—

"But he served you for years, sir, and he served you well. He must, at least, deserve a kinder death than that." was all that she managed to choke out.

Marcus Du Couteau placed the thick file back into its place and took another one out to continue, glancing at her and speaking wearily.

"I know, Katarina, and I would much prefer not having one of my hand-trained men being killed in front of all of Noxus like a toy. It would bring infinite shame upon our family, though possibly also the best Fleshing there ever has been since Xin Zhao's. But if General Swain so insists…" he sighed, closing his eyes and pressing a thumb to his temple, "then I am powerless. I will try to talk him out of it, but no matter if I fail or succeed, Talon must be found and seized. Am I clear with you, Kat?"

She clenched the brown envelope, passed to her only minutes before but what seemed like years, and nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Then you are dismissed. I would expect you to be fully dressed, in appropriate clothing, at six tomorrow morning, waiting by the front door. Do not forget."

"Yes, sir."

With that, she quietly stood up, pushed the chair back under the table, then turned and strode out of her father's study without looking back.

The first thought that came to her when she set foot on the corridor was how she was thankful, thankful that she was bored enough to have made a scan of the structure of the Fleshing Arena today.

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, I know, politics and Kat go so well together that they're pretty much cliché, but I don't care. I've had too much fun writing Katarina struggle with these things. Hope that I might get another chapter coming through soon!**


	3. Chapter 2: Riven

**A/N: Thank you, all the fantastic people who decided to fav/follow/review or just click and read this story. Thank you. Sorry for a late update, but I'm not quite familiar with Riven as with my other POV characters, and this first Riven chapter had me struggling. Please inform me if you think I OOC-ed.**  
 **To unknown guest reviewer, since I stick to one POV per chapter, all the thoughts would belong to the POV character, and everything outside the "" and doesn't look like description or action would probably be thoughts. I tried the "talks" and 'thinks' thing but it just didn't work out for me, I'm sorry if it gets confusing. I went back and changed all the speech quotation marks to "" though, if that might be better.**  
 **Reviews are really appreciated.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **[Riven]**

Night fell again over Ionia, and as they always did, she took up first watch.

Rain was droning steadily over the bamboo roof over their head, making her drowsier and colder than she would have liked. Water streamed down the crevices on the walls and came right through holes in the ceiling, damping the already moldy ground beneath them, and sending shivers through her body. The ragged clothing she had on was easily drenched.

Because of the persistent rain they have not been able to make much progress today, with no choice but to take up this shabby temple, long abandoned since the Noxian invasion and proving to be not much shelter against the droplets pouring down, for the night. It was too close to Noxus than what they both would have been comfortable with, but if they didn't want to spend a night in the mud, it was the only option.

She stared, in idle contemplation, at the puddle forming in front of her. Of course she has been through worse; walls around them and a roof above was quite luxurious conditions already. But it did not make it less uncomfortable, and the cold, rhythmic rain was making her sleepy.

It would be too risky for her to fall asleep; she quickly searched for something to focus her attention on, and finding little means of distraction. With an audible sigh, she went and tried again to start up a fire.

The never-ending rain and long dampened wood did not help her task. Watching the flame spluttering and eventually dying after her best efforts, she gave up with exasperation, softly placing the box of matches on a dry patch of ground, and crouched up a bit more in attempt to keep warm.

Behind her, the rustling of fabric could be heard.

She turned to find Talon facing towards her, though still asleep, his features remaining half-concealed beneath the drawn-up hood. He did not seem to have any reaction to the chilliness that was seeping through stone walls, and even in sleep his features were hardened into a mask of cold apathy.

Remembering clearly that he always went to sleep with his back turned towards her, Riven wondered if he was dreaming again.

Carefully, carefully, she leaned in slightly to study the face beneath, tanned and rigid and expressionless, like a clothed statue. Attempting to overlap this figure with the teenager she met, years ago, in Crimson Elite, she found it not too difficult. He did not seem to have changed much: still a loner, pushing away every other person who dared to come near, deadly and heartless. Still an assassin, perfectly trained and shaped, flawless and lethal.

She sat up straight again and set her gaze onto the far wall, engraved with Ionian writing and patterns, and started pondering again on why would he turn deserter and exile, like she did.

It was a question that troubled her ever since he came, and still she found no answer.

He was so typically Noxian. Utterly and unquestioningly loyal. Strong and merciless. And he had a home in one of the most significant houses of the nation, treated like an adoptive child, lived under conditions that could have made half the children in the country envy.

He had no reason to leave. None that she could think of. And doubtlessly she won't be getting any answers from him either.

The flowery lotus and human figures that were carved onto the wall by skillful Ionian hands stared at her, eyes unmoving, cold and lifeless.

Even in an empty temple she felt self-conscious, somehow, and the feeling was unnerving. She glanced down to the black rune sword that lay across her lap, wet and glimmering with trails of rain, and absentmindedly traced her fingers across the glowing runes, a habit that she found useful to calm herself down whenever something was bothering her deeply.

Distracted by her flow of thoughts, Riven did not notice the source of her uneasiness until, out of the corner of her eye, she captures a flash of black shadow from between the crevices in the wall. Seeing it she froze, unsure if it was her hallucination due to the weariness that was overcoming her, and dared not to move, in fear that if they…whatever they were…might move fast if they knew she has spotted the shadow.

The rain drummed steadily on, drowning out any sound that could have offered her suggestions, covering her ears with a cacophony of rustling leaves and the cries of nocturnal animals. It washed away every scent as well, and kindly covered up the moonlight for her eyes.

It was not a good night for them to be attacked.

Wishing silently that it would not be so, she knew, even without being an assassin, that this would be the perfect night to strike if she was one. Better safe than sorry, then…even if it proved to be a brief paranoia that came over her, it would still be better than being attacked while Talon was in sleep.

Deciding so, she took her time to fake an idle and unaware mask, twiddling with her rune sword, and waited until she felt safe to softly nudge Talon's sleeping figure behind her.

"I think we are being watched." she whispered, careful to not make her lips' motions overly obvious, loud enough for him to capture but quiet so the rain will cover it for her, "be careful."

There was silence for a not-so-brief moment, and she dared not to turn and check if he was awake or not. Painstakingly she waited, watching the darkness warily but with little success. Slowly, slowly, the quiet scraping of metal against stone could be heard behind her.

Rain poured without relenting.

Knowing that he was awake and alert as she was, Riven exhaled a breath of relief, fingers gradually making their way down to the handle of her rune sword. Another flickering silhouette grazed her sight, and she was certain.

Straining her eyes, she attempted to carve out the shadows from the darkness they hid in. Following where she last seen the humane figure, she could make out distinct suggestive lines hidden behind leaves, but the stone walls of the temple, though fractured and cracked, obscured most of the outside to her view.

She knew it was probably many people—no matter for what reason they came, with this degree of skill they were likely to be after either of them, and rarely would a single person take up the challenge. Three or four, she presumed, hiding in the charred garden and bamboo grove beyond these walls.

They were the ones exposed, trapped like mice in a cage, while their enemies stayed hidden and free to assault or run whenever they liked.

She hated this feeling.

"How many can you see?" the low, calm voice flowed into her ears, cold and ordering.

She hated the feeling of being helpless, of being on the losing side, of being _weak_. And Talon's question had her feel this way.

Slowly inching her fingers towards the grip of her heavy blade, she answered with a wavering tone, "I can't make out much from here…three or four, I guess. Could be more."

"Definitely more; there's five on my side." after a slight pause came his statement, and it hit her hard. Five spotted on one side alone, and in this weather which could have easily concealed more, would mean possibly over a dozen of men all together.

This was no ordinary attack that they easily fended off in the past.

"Don't move yet. Guard the doors and windows if they come through, but don't move before they do. I'll be back shortly." his wording was simple, forceful and curt, just as usual, and habitually she responded to the voice of a command.

A short pause, and the fabric that brushed against her was gone.

Curling her fingers around the handle, she shifted her body into a stance which she could easily spring out with force, and surveyed the temple that they took up shelter in. Half of the chambers already lay in wasted ruins, with fallen rubble blocking any possibility of intruding, so she would at least have a side that she didn't need to worry about. As for the rest…she eyed the broken doorway and windows, then slowly, with her sword in hand, rose to bar what could be barred and shut firmly what couldn't, then waited in agitating anticipation.

The wind was blowing wilder now, and the rain beating down with more ferociousness than before. It blinded her senses, and though she was not one to rely on them but rather her instincts of combat, she felt handicapped.

How does Talon manage it, as an assassin who relies heavily on careful observation before striking? She frowned at the thought but kept quiet and still, waiting for the attack to come.

She counted her breaths, attempting to keep track of time and maintain a steady breathing pattern—she couldn't afford having herself run down before the fight even started. Thirty. Fifty. The numbers surged past her without pausing, and he did not return.

The disturbing sounds were growing stronger. She thought that the rustling of leaves were unnaturally heavy—possibly the assassin's doing—but it could also easily be credited to the rainstorm, growing worse by the moment…her eyebrows furrowed further, discomfort rising.

Two hundred and twenty. She began to worry about the dark-haired killer out there in the worsening storm, but there was no help she could offer but to grasp hard on her own blade, preparing. Two hundred and sixty.

A flash of lightning struck the sky, parting the darkness that shielded her enemies, and she saw a familiar shadow fly through the trees, half-shielded by the broad leaves and mist of pouring rain. A yell of warning came soon after, and the next second Talon's figure appeared next to her, armblade dripping with fresh crimson liquid.

Three hundred.

"Got four of them. Eleven left."

That was _quick_. She blinked in a moment of surprise, glancing backwards to survey him. The assassin was panting for breath and drenched in rain, but unwounded. One against fifteen, took out four of the enemy and came back unharmed. If not for the flash of lightning that exposed him, she had no doubt he would have accomplished more.

The training of the Du Couteau family…of course. Such a prominent and influential house must have strength behind it to keep it so; Noxus is not a place where one finds weak nobility.

Riven shook her head with a slight smile toying on her lips. Even so, his skills never failed to amaze her.

With a forceful swipe in the air he ridded his blade of the droplets, splattering blood all over the floor of the Ionian temple. She squinted towards the door, uneasiness capturing her as the anticipated attack did not arrive.

"Who are these people? Ionian ninjas?" She heard of skilled ninjas on this island nation who embrace shadows and use them, making it sensible that they could disappear into the night like phantoms.

A brief pause preceded his words, as if he was thinking them over, "no. Their garments and armor are different from Ionian style, though I haven't seen their fighting techniques yet. Most likely they aren't."

Contemplating on this, she wondered who, then, it could be. From what Talon told her, she was presumed dead by the Noxian army, and no further search was conducted. It wouldn't be a Noxian party sent out on her.

So…could it be that these were people who were after _him_?

A slight shudder traveled up her spine. She knew nothing of how or why he left Noxus, only accepting him into a two-people partnership after he trailed behind her for days on end. He has refused to speak and she did not press, but it was something that lingered between them, and her ignorance of the topic got to her greatly.

She wasn't offered the chance to muse on for at that moment the weak wooden doors were broken into splinters, and the silhouettes that she saw before suddenly flowed in, taking human form and shape.

The long expected battle has finally begun.

Talon was already gone again, and at the far end she caught a glimpse of the brown-haired assassin slipping between their enemies with swift, agile moves, weaving his way through while never pausing to directly combat with any, his blades shimmering a silvery color under the occasional flashes of lightning.

Raising her broken sword, she shouted and charged straight into the center of the crowd, slashing, cleaving, endlessly and brutally. It was her style of combat. The pale green runes engraved on ebon iron came alive at her hand, answering to her every call, unleashing the agitation that she has been holding back for half the night relentlessly.

It felt strangely free to her to be back in battle again, and as she dodged blade after blade or saw attacks falling on the shield that her runed blade created for her, adrenaline coursed through her veins. Even in her self-forced exile, she was Noxian at heart, and finally ridding the feeling of being vulnerable was bliss.

Thunder and screams broke the tranquility of the night together.

* * *

It ended fast. Surprisingly fast.

She stabbed the jagged tip of her heavy sword into the abdomen of the last enemy she faced, thrusting it with force until she heard the harsh sound of metal colliding with stone. It has fallen quiet again without the cries in both combat and death ringing out in the night winds, and she felt strangely unused to it, all of a sudden.

The downpour, though, continued outside.

Extracting the blade—which was harder than she thought, being tired from combat and lack of rest—she shook most of the blood off with deft movements, though her arms were already worn out by its weight.

Turning, she saw Talon crouched over the corpses, picking over them with a strange resemblance to crows pecking over the dead.

"What are you doing?"

He had a shoulder wound, she realized, seeing his awkward movements with his left arm. Not a simple cut or bruise, but something deep that could have wounded the flesh. It might be in need of some medical help…or they could take the risk of having it worsen and fester. No, they didn't have any other option but that anyways.

She felt uncomfortable watching the blood seep through his clothing, the blades draped on his cloak clinking softly against each other.

In reply, the assassin tossed a small metallic object in her direction, which she managed to catch but receiving a slight wound in her palm. Flinching unconsciously, the object fell to the ground in a clatter, revealing it as a typical light-weighted blade used for throwing.

"I can't expect an infinite supply of knives out here. Best not let these go wasted." Came the explanation.

Riven shrugged, picked up the knife and let him be, seeking out a corner where she would have firm stone behind her back, and started wiping her sword clean with rags. She was unsure if the runes will prevent rusting of any kind, and she would rather not risk it.

"Throwing knives—not very Ionian, I guess?" she commented casually after a closer observation of the weapon, remembering no such thing appearing during her years wandering around Ionia. Shurikens were more commonly seen blades used for throwing, and as far as she knew, this type of slender, balanced knife does not fit in with the exotic weapons used on this island.

He suddenly materialized at her side, letting his armful of collected blood-stained trinkets fall to the ground before her, and went again to continue rummaging for his spoils.

"No," he replied to her question after a lengthy pause, "no, these are definitely no Ionians at all." Pulling a mangled body up from where it laid on the ground and tearing its mask down, he revealed the face beneath it to her: a face with more caved-in and solid features, unlike the characteristically smooth and soft-featured faces of Ionians.

A Noxian face.

Stifling a gasp, she stopped what her hands were working on, and turned her gaze to the body. From his pockets he found a small emblem, a silvery one engraved with patterns of blade and blood, which she couldn't recognize but he seemed to.

"What is that?"

Shaking his head, Talon let the body fall back to where it laid, and threw the perfectly round emblem to her, "the crest of some minor house in Noxus. He looks pretty fancily dressed, as well. No idea why he was hanging around here."

Catching it in midair and studying it, she felt cold. Recalling back to moments during combat did not help either. Yes, the feeling when she fought was familiar, was comforting to her, but she blamed it on common bloodlust, something barely evitable if you are from Noxus; now she finds it familiar because it felt like when she sparred with her own men during training, before she turned exile…or the feeling of when she sparred against other members of the Crimson Elite.

These were Noxians, sent to find them…and kill them, she had no doubt. It makes no sense that they would just be scouting; long after she noticed them these people still lingered on.

Their heads were wanted back in Noxus, and possibly for not a low price either, she thought to herself quietly, fixating her gaze to the silver crest. Silence drowned out the rain again.

"I'm assumed dead, aren't I, Talon?" quietly she voiced her doubt, toying around absentmindedly with the silver piece in hand, "so why would they want us dead?"

He was almost finished with his search, and upon hearing it his focus turned to her.

"Most likely would be because of me." No guilt. No apologetic tone. Only cold statements that tell unbiased facts. The way he spoke could be lifesaving under some circumstances and ultimately annoying under others.

Exasperated, she put her new found toy down and let her gaze fall on him, "What did you _do_?"

"Nothing." He stated, bending down again to retrieve a dagger buried in the stomach of a corpse, thought about it and added, "I deserted. But nothing beyond that."

So just like her, but totally different consequences. She at least, did not have the pleasure to be tailed by a dozen of assassins in the dead of the night. Turning her attention away from him, at the last moment she caught a glimpse of a shadow—moving—raising its hand—an alive shadow, one like those she just encountered five minutes prior, like the lifeless corpses that decorated the temple floor.

Another one.

One that escaped and is now back for his vengeance.

She opened her mouth in warning, but before the warning could come out, the shadow fell without even striking. The light thud of its contact with the hard, stone floor grabbed his attention, and he spun immediately, blade up and ready for defense and assault at the same time.

It confused her when she saw the image of the killer. Dark haired and eyed, with deeply carved features—this was a Noxian as well, and there was no question to it. Talon seemed slightly surprise with her.

The _boy_ —it was hard to call him a man, for he seemed so young—has a blade strapped to his arm just like how the assassin did, and his face was rigid and devoid of emotion, seemingly old for somebody of his age, or the age she presumed he was around. There was a deadly edge to him as well, she could see. A lethal side which could have only been cultivated through killing and more killing, through wading in seas of blood and heaving the burden of those who wishes you dead.

This was a true assassin, even though she could see that he was too young to have his skills fully fledged and matured, but still he was much more qualifying to the term than the band that now lay on the floor. She would prefer naming those "bandits".

The two surveyed each other, attempting to read something from the same liquid irises, and were forced into a fruitless stalemate. After a period of torturing waiting, at least to her, it was the stranger boy who first broke the silence.

"I am under the direct orders of Lady Katarina Du Couteau, and no-one else. You may trust me, sir."

Can they? She eyed the boy in suspicion. If she learnt anything over the years, it was to never trust an assassin, regardless of which side they were on. Back while she trained with Talon and Katarina in the Crimson Elite, overhearing their plans for missions always sent chills up her spine. These were people who knew only loyalty, duty, and no honesty or friendship or kindness.

Even with Talon now she had a hard time convincing herself that he was not going to stab her in the middle of the night.

He obviously had his doubts too.

"Prove it." came the harsh order, and his arm armblade did not lower, though she could see he was no longer prepared to strike first. Solely in defense, they both waited as the boy reached into his pouches and drew a knife by its hilt.

And he threw it right in Talon's face.

The assassin dodged quickly, though earning himself a shallow cut on the cheek, and caught the flash of silver between his fingers, wiping away the emerging droplets of blood with the back of his hand. She pounced to her feet and was prepared to strike, and stopped midway when realizing that he did not seem surprised or even fazed.

The boy did not look scared either, but, from the slump of his shoulders, slightly relaxed instead. He raised his hands in a playful defensive motion, as if fearing the other would attack, the rainwater dripping down his dark colored clothing.

He didn't, though.

"This is Katarina's." he commented casually on the blade that he acquired, inspecting it carefully and flipping the balanced steel in his hands. The knife had a dark red hilt, stained with brown blotches of color that she assumed could only be blood, "and you wear the symbol of the Du Couteau house. Very well, I believe you."

A test. That was all the attack meant…she realized and relaxed herself as well. The strange ways these people greeted each other, she thought, remembering the way a certain red-haired girl used to welcome his return to the Crimson Elite barrack with a throwing knife. Strange, but sensible.

"And you are Talon indeed." the boy's smile held a mischievous edge, and his head was slightly bowed, "I've had my suspicions as well, no offence."

Talon lowered the vicious blade strapped to his left arm, wincing slightly as he did so due to his wound, slipping the new knife with one deft motion into his belt. "Whoever trained you did their job. What have you come for?"

Thunder cracked, and in the sudden flash of light she saw the boy's eyes glimmering darkly, a shade of obsidian, formed from deadly fire cooling. Unexplainably, she felt wary in the presence of him.

"I come in warning, Talon." the boy, though much younger than he was, addressed him by name and name solely, with no title to it; she guessed they would view each other as equal colleagues, regardless of age, "this party is the first to find you, and so long as you—and her—" she swore she saw his sight flicker towards her, "—are in Ionia, more will come. They are hunting you."

Her worries were accurate, then.

"They know that you are in Ionia. By what means, I am unsure. But the General Swain has a good bounty on your head, and it will only rise with time." with a slight pause the boy quietly went on, "my mistress is ordered to search for you as well, though as far as I know she is the only of the Du Couteaus with this task, and as you can see…she isn't quite so devoted to the cause."

Mistress. She took note of this word and wondered if this boy's loyalties lied strictly to Katarina and not the entire house; that would make sense for his warning to arrive, for him to backstab the other Noxians. The General Du Couteau would never train such an assassin, but if it's the impulsive redhead that she knew, certainly she would give orders like this, and duty-bound he would carry them out. Of course.

"Must be a high price." Was the seemingly light comment coming from him, "And for one deserter?"

"You are marked as an enemy of the state," the boy calmly informed, untying a couple of leather parcels from his side, tossing them one by one as he spoke, which Talon caught easily with his right hand. Her eyes widened at this information, but anticipated surprise did not hit her—perhaps there have been too many surprises in one night for her to be shocked again, "For killing a member of the High Command. When I left Noxus, you had thirty thousand pieces of Noxian gold on your head. The price could have raised by now."

At that he visibly stiffened. She probably did as well, too. Their messenger, however, kept his emotionless mask on, and continued evenly.

"I have brought you some necessities by order of my mistress." Eyeing the shoulder wound that the assassin recently obtained, he pointed to the pouches that he tossed over a moment before, "and this would be the end of my orders."

Weighing them on his palm, Talon threw two of the three leather bags towards her, the larger one which she caught and the other which fell on the stone-paved ground with audible clinks and clashes. Stooping to pick the smaller one up, she felt the weight of it and untied the string sealing its opening, revealing the metallic coins of Ionia inside. The other contained of clean, exotic garments, allowing concealment of their features and blending in with the Ionian natives at the same time. The third one, she assumed by how he did not give it to her, possibly contained medical supplies—healing potions, bandages, antidotes, things of the like.

These could be life-saving items. Though still holding doubt against the boy, she must admit that they were in his debt also.

Silence dawned over them, an eerie stifling quietness with nothing but the rain to fill in the gaps of conversation. He just stood, facing them with his arms crossed lightly, leaning against the stone statue behind him—one so ancient she had trouble telling what it was, some Ionian deity figure perhaps—and Talon did not make a response either.

He opened the last of the deliveries, and slowly but with experience applied it to his wounded shoulder. As the layers of armor and fabric became undone she hissed at the sight of the cut, gruesome and showing slightly the pale bone beneath, but with stoic patience the assassin handled his wound alone.

And the silence drew on.

Eventually Talon broke it first, his voice strangely weary and quiet, barely audible over the rainstorm and the distance between.

"Your service is much appreciated. And I trust you to indeed be one of Katarina's men." A short pause. "But you have pinpointed my location, seen me with a Noxian exile, and know of my condition. I can't take the risk. Do you understand?"

She could sense a decision being made at the moment, by the young assassin who couldn't even be sixteen yet, and she was confused. He nodded in response, and without a second thought.

"There will be more of my colleagues arriving at dawn to search this area, and my mistress says if they find my body she'll know that you're safe. You best move quickly, and I understand."

It was until she saw Talon drew his blade did she understand as well.

 _He was going to kill him._

She knew it was sensible to do so. Even if he was truly loyal to the eldest daughter of the Du Couteau house, even if he would never betray their information willingly, always there was the risk of him being captured and tortured for it. And always the chance of him bending to pain, even though assassins of his kind were fabled to be amazing bearers of such torments. As long as he was human, there were weaknesses that could be exploited.

They were in no position to take the slightest risk now.

But still, killing him made her feel…uneasy about it. Guilt. It was a queer emotion for her to bear, un-Noxian, and she wondered if the peaceful lands of Ionia were influencing her unknowingly.

She turned her head away, cursing herself inwardly for the weakness, and looked back when a light thud coming into her ears. Her gaze fell on to the lifeless body and Talon's armblade with a fresh scarlet edge.

Was it necessary? Yes, it was.

"His name." she suddenly just blurted it out, unthinking, earning a questioning look from the other. Embarrassed slightly, she turns away to avoid meeting his gaze, "I…we don't know his name. Shouldn't it at least be remembered?"

"By the ways of soldiers, yes." He replied, with little change in his tone from before, the few droplets slowly rolling down the shining steel, and he did not stop searching the final bodies for weapons or other supplies to take, "by the ways of assassins, remembrance is…unnecessary." His voice paused in contemplation over the idea, and added, "And likely he did not own a name anyways."

"And by that you mean…"

Her voice trailed off, and she could feel her conscious slipping in the need of rest. Thunder crashed, temporarily waking her. He was done with his scavenging, and walked over to her with a brisk but heavy pace, his spoils in his arms.

"The Du Couteau family owns a few of most notorious rings in Noxus, Riven. Ones which stages fights between children." His voice was still quiet and with an unexplainable solemn side to it, "many who are later taken in and trained are young survivors from these places, and they either were never given a name or it's been taken away long ago. He would likely be one of these, too."

She stared at him in a mute combination of confusion and horrification, but it was brief and passed just as soon as it came.

 _Only the strong survive in Noxus,_ she recalled _. Only the strong survive._

"But he seems to have sworn loyalty to Lady Du Couteau solely, not the house?" musing on the fact she quickly added, "or Noxus?" if he was truly branded as an enemy of Noxus, what the boy just did was little better than treason, even acting under orders.

He started rubbing the flecks of dry blood from the pile of blades he acquired earlier in the night, and he cleaned them fast. Experienced. He sorted through them too, discarding the blunt or bent or unbalanced ones, slipping those that could be used into his belt.

"We don't question orders." Slowly he replied, weighing every word on the tip of his tongue, and taking the last of the blades with him, "We carry them out, so long as the person giving them has the right to."

It didn't matter whether the order came from a good or evil starting point, these people respected strength and strength only. And they followed the commands of those overpowering them…with perfect resolve and loyalty.

"Are you wavering, Riven?"

His question came piercing and harsh, just like how his eyes were of lucid amber fire. He slowly stood up, facing her, his eyes glimmering a shade of strange emotions.

"What is it? Pity for the boy whom I just killed, or guilt over the death of an ally? Or is it the way I react?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but no words found their way up her throat. Yes, she disliked the way he acted, killing him, and she disliked even stronger how he seemed completely unfazed at the fact. No remorse. No hesitation. He killed quickly and did not pause to think about it.

Like a killing machine with no human soul embedded inside.

A soft sigh of exasperation could be heard, and his voice following soon after.

"Death is eventual, Riven, and to assassins an early death is signed on your contract once you take this path. A quick, painless death—that is the best we could hope for, and the only as well." Picking up one from his discarded pile of assortments of blades, he tossed it to her, which she barely caught, "the boy's armblade. He's not yet strong enough to have his own personalized one yet, so this would be the common type…keep it as a souvenir if you would, to honor the dead or whatever you would believe in. I wouldn't. No place for useless blades to lodge. Pity though, he showed strong potential."

She studies the balanced steel in her hands. Delicately crafted with the sigil of the Du Couteau house embedded at its end, the weapon was a beautiful one, and carefully kept sharp as well. Tracing her fingers habitually along the lines that decorated it, she felt a strange groove beneath her fingers, and lifted them to see a number engraved in tiny standard print.

XVI. Sixteen…could that be his number? If he had no name, at least there must have been some way to identify these people from one another. A numeric way was the first that popped into her mind.

While she thought about it, the dark figure already disappeared from sight. Finally realizing it her gaze turned to the only un-ruined door, leaning on the door frame. "Come, it wouldn't do to linger here. The next bunch arriving probably won't be so friendly."

"In this storm?"

"Dangerous, but safer than staying." He answered her unspoken question along, "Coming or not?"

Grabbing onto her broken rune-sword, she quickly followed along, though her footsteps lagged and she was exhausted so her mind di not quite function. "Of course I'm not sitting around to become crow's food."

Outside, the rainstorm poured on; making every step they take a struggle, an attempt that usually ends up fruitless. Talon seemed to be able to navigate these lands easily, despite she has wandered here for years. One of the many talents of an assassin, she supposed, scoffing at herself for this idea.

The wind howled against them, carrying whatever sound they made into the darkness, so they struggled through it silently, with him leading the way.

Something, still, bugged her. Something that just occurred in conversation or action. Something that—oh.

"Did you do it?" she yelled over the screams of the wind, "did you kill that member of High Command, whoever it was?" The stop between question and answer was lengthy; she nearly assumed her words were lost in the air while his voice came through.

"I didn't, Riven, and I never would. I do not betray Noxus."

"So why did you run? Why leave Noxus if you did nothing wrong?"

In the greyish terrain that surrounded her she could barely make out the shadowy figure of Talon in front of her, and with that question he disappeared. She froze in place immediately, unsure of what to do or how to proceed when he suddenly just appeared right in front of her, nose to nose, the amber irises boiling with a deep, scorching fire that she feared and backed away from.

Dangerous. Dark. Menacing. Noxian.

But his answer…was not Noxian at all.

"I had to. Either I left, or I would have killed Katarina Du Couteau."

* * *

 **A/N: Here comes a not-so-clear explaination of what Talon did and his reasons to leave, to unknown guest reviewer. Yeah...I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. I'll be altering POVs with a regular pattern so every storyline I plan on writing will be touched equally in general, and there'll be four POV characters in total. Kat, Talon, Riven and guess who? Not a difficult guess though :D Hope next chapter will be coming through soon!**


	4. Chapter 3: Cassiopeia

**A/N: Here comes our last POV character, Cassiopeia.**  
 **Reviews much appreciated.**

 **Update 5/25: Yes I decided to change the summary, since the original one was a bit too vague, though I doubt the new one is any better. I really suck at summarizing, well, anything, and I'm very changeable, so you might (just might) find the summary shifting several times in the future. The story won't change, though.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **[Cassiopeia]**

She tightened the cream colored bodice until it fitted close enough to compliment the curves of her body, and tied the strings behind her carefully but easily, feeling them with her fingers. Studying herself in the large mirror that covered half her bedroom wall, Cassiopeia decided to don a dark shawl over it; it would go with her hair and the chocolate dress she had on today well, and she felt bare without some sort of cover anyways.

Reaching for the shawl she had in mind, her eyes fell on the wooden box she stuffed into the back corner of her closet ages ago, and considered taking what was in it.

She barely ever opened the box since her sister gave it to her for her eleventh birthday, except to throw all the other presents from Katarina in, and it became a sort of joke between them which she didn't appreciate. But perhaps it would be safer to today, with all these people of different backgrounds attending…

Draping the deep auburn fabric over her shoulders, she stared at the box with the Du Couteau's emblem scorched into the lid. Her dress hides an assortment of pouches and holsters of course, she had her maids sew them in secretly, but she never had anything in them. She never felt the need to.

…Fine.

It felt like surrendering to her sister, but she knew better than to let her ego take control. Pouting slightly, she opened it and carefully drew a silvery blade from the pile, throwing a disgusted look at the pink bow tie on the handle.

Apparently it was Kat's way of mocking her.

After ripping the frilly lace and ribbons and whatever else she had tied onto the dagger, she now had in hand a beautifully balanced blade, curved in elegant shape and razor-sharp despite her negligence, the hilt simple and black.

She weighed it with uncertainty. Having never paid attention to those so-called gifts, Cassiopeia realized, for the first time, that these blades were different.

It was light, lighter than the daggers her sister wielded herself, and thin too—the type she knew Katarina hid beneath her leathers instead of in her belt, one that promised less damage but better concealment, and would not impede movement even if worn close to skin. The type that Kat would only use as a last resort, but exactly what she needed.

Feeling slightly grateful, she tried a few slashes with it and was pleased with herself being still able to wield a knife correctly, despite her last training lesson was when she was nine. Female or not, coming from the Du Couteau family meant that such things were inevitable, and for once she was glad for them.

As messy as it was, in Noxus, sometimes violence is necessary. That much she would agree with her sister.

She slipped two of them into the leather belts she tied around her legs and studied herself again in the mirror, turning multiple angles to be sure her dress spread out enough to hide them. Another few tiny knives for throwing were hidden against her back, where her bodice and shawl would cover up nicely, and the cold steel pressing against her made her uncomfortable.

She tried moving around with them and winced as the bare blade scraped against her skin, slightly tingling with pain that she wasn't used to, and found she couldn't manage anything above small steps and still maintain a normal stance.

How does Katarina ever manage to stride around like that with all these weapons bound to her? She wondered, staring at the awkward girl who was her reflection, and tentatively attempted larger steps, pressing her lips into a hard line against the pain.

The rapping at her door stopped her from further practice, and inaudibly she sighed, giving up. Large strides weren't ladylike anyways, as her governess taught her, and she will cope with it for tonight.

"Lady Cassiopeia? Your ride is ready."

"Yes, I am coming." Hurriedly she replaced the lid to where it was and pushed the box back into place, covering it up with random old garments she owned, and closed the closet doors. Putting on a smile and checking in the mirror that her expression was appropriate, she grabbed her purse, went to answer the door, greeting her valet with a nod and sheepishly adverted her eyes.

"I must have taken horribly long; my apologies to have kept you waiting."

She could feel the surprise from him, a newcomer freshly employed, "Not…not at all, my lady. The carriage would be waiting at the door. We should arrive there slightly early, as you requested."

Smiling and thanking him for his forgiveness, she slowly walked down the corridor, gritting her teeth against the stinging scrapes of the blades and keeping her shoulders steady so that she would look graceful. She stepped into the vehicle with a light pause, then sat down facing the front and smoothed out her dress while the doors were slowly shut. And she did not forget to thank him again as well. Every relationship must be carefully treated, she knew, including those with her servants; she would rather not force them at knifepoint like her sister, but leave a nice impression that would promise obedience due to love, not fear.

With a crack of the whip, the wheels slowly started rolling down the cool Noxian streets, with the deep colors of dusk painting the skyline outside.

She stared, wordlessly, outside the panes of her carriage window, and untied the curtains, allowing them to fall and drape the inside with shadows. Her eyes fell to the hole on the other seat's leather cover gaping at her, and frowned, wondering why the damage from Katarina's knife the other day hasn't yet been repaired. It made this scene familiar, too familiar to her; only days ago her sister sat right on the other side as they returned from the Fleshing, toying with her knife, and they bickered with her being harassed again by Katarina.

It was nothing unusual, of course, as the sisters bickered daily on different degrees. Yet…about Talon.

It was a touchy subject, as it always has been between them, even before his betrayal…or deserting, or leaving, or whatever Katarina wanted to believe. They rarely were able to bring it up without, at the very least, intense arguing.

His position was always in the gray patch between family and servant; of course she couldn't view him as a sibling, they barely even see each other in the house, and she had no idea why Kat could. For all she knew, he was just one of the many assassins beneath father's command and training, and as he lurked in the shadows their paths never crossed and she never minded.

She had habitually folded her hands on her lap, and as she stared down her eyes focused on the flowery golden patterns she manicured on her nails, just so that there was something for her to concentrate on.

Why would Kat care for him?

She knew that they worked together. Occasionally, when their assignment was especially hard, or when it was important and her father wanted a safeguard, they would be sent together in the night. And perhaps they spent time sparring each other as well. So what? Her days were spent on socializing with people of her own class and status and she felt no emotions towards them, not to say her servants.

But she could see how Talon just stirred her whenever the subject was brought up. She cared for the man, the slums-born assassin their father picked off the streets, and just like all the other emotions that Katarina Du Couteau bears, it was irrational and unrestrained.

With Talon declared an enemy of Noxus, those emotions of her sister's only raged more out of control.

She heard rumors, not much, but still rumors indeed. Whispers that, though Katarina was given the task to search for the betrayer, she did not carry out her orders to the fullest; that she deliberately gave her searchers the wrong leads and information, that she sent her trusted to bring word for him before the others reached him, that she was _helping_ him, a traitor to the Empire of Noxus. Whispers that she would smile and shrug off and tell everyone that it could not be true, for the fierce loyalty of her sister was obvious to the entire nation, yet could very likely be the reality from what she knew.

Closing her eyes, she felt a slight headache creeping upon her, and softly she pressed at her temples with her thumbs. The pulled curtains billowed under the course of late summer breezes, playing with the loose strands of auburn hair that she kept beside her ears, and sighing softly she raised her hand to tidy them.

Rumors were only rumors after all, and these were stories told only by the lowborn, but she would not risk having them being widely gossiped about in the upper society, where, as her first-hand experience tells her, nobility-born girls do nothing but tell these stories to each other. And where would they be then, with the saying of the Du Couteau child betraying the country? Nowhere good, that she was plenty sure of.

Her sister just _had_ to mess up everything. Everything that she carefully plotted and carried out, Katarina always had some way to turn it all upside down.

Father had his reasons to lie low for the past months, reasons which she knew well. She would not be surprised if those…rumors…were deliberately spread by someone, and they will never have a single wisp of evidence. The High Command of Noxus has never been a peace-loving party, no matter on affairs international or within, and if things were not handled terribly cautiously these days, it was not unlikely that the Du Couteau family would fall by the schemes of those lusting for power. She was terrified at the thought, but perfectly aware of its possibility.

The carriage rolled over a light bump and jolted slightly, causing her to wince at the cold steel against her leg. She made a mental note to find dagger scabbards before she would wear them like this again, and cursed her sister for giving her sharp blades without leather to protect herself from them. Katarina probably never intended for her to use them at all anyways, yet still.

Disastrous as it was, for both Kat and the assignments she had to attend to, it was probably a good decision to have her following father in the high command, she thought after pulling the blades straight. She needed to understand what her own little sister was doing, after all. She needed to have this sense of politics and plots and conspiracies, disgusting as they are, in her mind. And anyways…Katarina needed a distraction. She was getting unhealthily obsessed over the subject of Talon, and forcing her to direct her attention elsewhere was a good idea.

As her sibling, it was her duty to assist Kat on such affairs, adding to her already never ending workload of maintaining a social presence in the name of their house.

Sighing in tiredness she ran a list of all the problems she needed to attend to in her mind, starting with helping her sister to get used to politics. The Black Rose, whom they say have already infiltrated the High Command. General Jericho Swain, with his right-hand man Darius, was proving to be possible rivals…or even enemies. And of course, Talon. Everything was leaning against the family, and Talon picked just the time to betray them.

There were much to do, and little time to do them.

As much as she was unwilling to admit, the Du Couteau house was nearing the brink of breaking to ashes, and the last thing she needed was her sister helping to spread more whispers that helped in the wrong way.

They were almost there. She could feel the speed of the carriage decreasing, the summer evening winds stopping their flow. Breathing slowly but deeply she told herself to stop being troubled over these things, to set them aside and out of her mind temporarily for the night, and be prepared to smile and dance and enjoy herself as much as she could, while keeping a keen ear on any words shared during the night that could be valuable. Worrying helps nothing. Lies and wits and careful observation do.

Forcing her lips to curl up just slightly so that she would seem joyous yet dignified, she folded her hands again on her lap, and waited in patience as they slowly came to a halt.

* * *

She weaved through crowds and dancers easily, reminding herself constantly to be poised and confident and doing her best to ignore the scraping pain coming from her legs, to a shadowy corner to catch her breath. Dusk has deepened into night, and through the enormous glass windows she could see a glimpse of the new moon, dim and cold and lifeless.

Unnoticeably she shivered, and turned her gaze back to the seas of people, the music from a string quartet resonating around the chamber. The solstice ball was one of the most prominent events in Noxus, where the majority of the upper class would be present, and she did not waste this opportunity to catch whatever new whispers were passing around. It was the whole reason she was here.

Cassiopeia spent the past hours to converse with some old friends or to make some new ones, and as she wore the Du Couteau sigil on her silvery choker around her neck, there were always plenty of people coming up to chat. Careful to not leak any information of her own, she politely talked or shared unimportant gossip like all the other girls would, and when she got a few valuable words leaked out to her by slip of tongue she was satisfied and found her chance and excuse to leave.

It was greatly time consuming and extremely boring, but she put up with it the best she could.

No, unlike what her sister thinks, she does _not_ enjoy those gatherings so much; it wasted her time horribly as she had to smile and make small talk and seem likable, or at least as likable as a Noxian should be, just for a couple sentences of unbeknownst value, and though she tried to pick her targets as carefully as possible with such a large party it was impossible to evade all those useless ones. Small parties with people she knew were okay; this? Incredibly torturous.

She loosened her choker slightly and allowed it to dangle a bit like a necklace, and though it probably wasn't ladylike, she needed to catch her breath. The wine she consumed from endless toasts were already starting to get to her slightly, though she considered herself a decent drinker, and she had to bite her lip every now and then just to keep focus. Getting drunk without an escort and in such a large crowd was probably one of the worse things that could happen to her—rape was no rare thing in Noxus, even in the higher levels of society—and she muttered under her breath why did she not think of dragging Kat along. Her sister at least could have kept her on her feet.

And yet the night was still long. The thin curve of a waned moon stared down at her as she hid in its shadows, and she felt a strange sense of foreboding.

Frowning, she tightened up her neckband again, leaning back slightly so to let the knives hidden beneath her clothing would press to her skin, hoping to let the metallic feel wake her up. Though the Du Couteau's were no family of magicians, magic did pass through their blood, and she knew the techniques of her father and Kat used them; she had magic in her veins as well, and usually when unlucky feelings came to her, they were honest.

A strange sixth sense, she considered it. Whatever it was, it proved itself to be generally accurate for the past years, and now when the feel of unease came she felt like she was tingling all over.

 _Please, no more bad luck._ Tightening the strings of her bodice and studying herself silently in the reflection of glass windows, she prayed to herself. There was enough happening already right now. She needed no more unfortunate events on top of them.

Of course, prayer helped nothing.

"Would you mind," came the young voice of a man, soft yet startling her no less, "if I share this place with you?"

Hastily she re-fastened her choker and turned, coming nearly face to face with a young nobleman that she did not recognize. Seventeen, eighteen maybe, slightly younger than her sister, and much too young to be a noble on his own…an heir possibly, to one of the many minor families of Noxus. She knew the faces of all the prominent ones.

"Of course not; it would be my pleasure." Plastering her smile back on again, she sidestepped a bit to make space for him in the shadows, and carefully studied him.

No crest worn on his garments and yet obviously they were made of rich material, which made her suspects of him coming from nobility doubtful. A merchant's child, then? That would explain it, but she would not give a sure conclusion before knowing more.

"And mine as well." He smiled in return, one that looked strangely genuine to her, while stepping in yet keeping a polite distance between them, "it is a lovely spot that you've chosen. Just right to take a break from all the vulgarities tonight."

Candlelight flickered behind him, giving his figure a fiery ring of color. She lightly rested her hands on the handles beside her, standing straight while slightly tilting her head towards him. He had fine looks, alright, and possibly a background just as handsome, though she knew nothing of; instinctively she tuned herself into the mode she used while conversing with "possibly useful males".

"Your compliment is sweet, yet I fear it is wrongly granted. I merely stumbled across here, and moments ago it was every bit as vulgar as the rest of this night; it is your presence that makes it lovely."

She heard a light chortle from him, and averted her eyes in a blush—the blush was easy enough to feign, as there was already some creeping on to her due to the wine—and her smile kept on, though the curves of her lips were light and demure.

"And you, my lady, are overly modest." His eyes were a hue of dim blue, she recalled as his voice gently wrapped around her, a cerulean rarely seen in Noxus, "I can assure you that it is your beauty that has lured me here in the first place. There is no fairer maiden in this hall then you."

This boy was _good_ , she thought as she contemplated his speech. Usually young men of his age started stammering at her words and her face. Either he was confident and well taught enough to know how to respond, or this one was a talented womanizer. She was assuming the latter was true.

"Are you certain?" she giggled like a little girl would, yet making sure she still maintained her stance, "half of the maidens in all of Noxus must all be here, and plenty of them pretty. I wouldn't dare say I am the best of them all."

An act. It was all an act, and she felt disgusted at those words herself—it made her seem shallow, like all the other silly girls she had as "friends", yet nonetheless it was a useful tactic when flirting or simply trying to let the other drop his guard. People tend to be on their toes around master seducers, but less when talking to…well, naïve, flirty girls.

She heard footsteps on the wooden floor coming from behind, and felt weirdly uncomforting. Usually at home, with the heavily carpeted hallways and the training of assassins, the sound of footfalls are incredibly rare. And with the music and talking in the background she could still hear him—odd, isn't it?

"Absolutely positive." Was his reply, and as she turned to face her their gazes met, golden against blue. She stared into his lucid irises which seemed overly clear, eyes rarely seen in this nation of deceit and bloodlust, and he held out a hand which she tentatively accepted, "I have not yet the pleasure to know your name. Call me Alexander."

The name was…not Noxian, she noted to herself. A common name, but not of this nation. Eyeing him with slight suspicion, she went back to the guess of a merchant's child. A travelling businessman, with enough money in his pockets, could possibly make his way into such parties as this, either with influence or with gold. Being invited to the solstice ball was something that tended to be bragged about, she knew.

She was slightly wavering over whether she should give her name or not. It would be best not to, before she knew who exactly this person is, but against social etiquette.

…Well, it didn't quite matter anyways, she thought. If he truly developed an interest for her information, he could get everything, down to what color of underwear she liked, just by asking a random girl who is here tonight. She wasn't a mysterious figure.

"My name is Cassiopeia," she gave a light pause, her gloved hand resting lightly on his, and her other toying, seemingly mindlessly, with her choker, "Cassiopeia Du Couteau."

He seemed surprised, which was nothing she was unused to, "You must be linked to the famed Du Couteau general, I would assume?"

Obviously. "Yes, that would be my father. And you would be…?"

"Nobody of any importance." His smile slightly faded, and with her generally sensitive eyes she captured the troubled look in his eyes. Ashamed? Or making up a lie? Her uneasiness grew at his vague answer and searched for a way to press him further, or leave.

"Oh, you surely can't mean that." She laughed lightly as if it was nothing but a joke, soft golden eyes glimmering in the shadows like a cat's, "anyone who can make his way here is important, I am certain."

With the garments he had on and the cerulean eyes she was positive this was no low-born Noxian, who found his way into this ball by pure luck. He was trying to make up something on the spot, possibly, to evade other accusations of his background, and she was becoming more interested and determined to find out who he truly is.

Not from Noxus. Those eyes and his hair, a bright hue of chocolate, bothered her. Where, she wondered, on Valoran, had a general population with light-colored eyes and hair? A few places: Freljord, Piltover, _Demacia_. None which were friendly to Noxus.

Her spine tingled slightly, and, trying to make herself as unnoticed as possible, she reached behind her back for the knives she hidden there, but her hand was caught as quickly as she started.

This was going nowhere good.

"Perhaps I am of slight more importance than I would give myself credit for." Came a chuckle, and she writhed in attempt to break her wrist free. They were nearly nose-to-nose now, with him coming perilously close, and she cursed herself for being careless. She should have seen it coming and left while things weren't out of hand.

"Yet still, it is nothing compared to your family. One of the high command, the best assassins of Noxus…"

His voice was darkening, and she felt like she was suffocating.

"...must have been perfect before one of your men turned traitor, Or so I've heard…am I correct, Lady Du Couteau?"

Not this topic. Again.

She felt dread creeping on to her, but she steadied her gaze and shifted her pose to be more confident and assertive. At least for a dozen times the subject of Talon was brought up to her, and she felt tired and terrified at the same time. One wrong word would mean doom. One slip of tongue could result in dire consequences. She must choose her words with utter care…and her situation right now was not helping her focus to the best of her ability.

Breathing in deeply, she lessened her smile to a more solemn expression, with a tint of sadness.

"Yes, indeed. Talon was one of the best under my father's command, but unfortunately he did betray the Empire and killed one of my father's colleagues." A dangerous thing to admit; Talon was like a secretive celebrity in this nation, with him being once a Crimson Elite member, and half of Noxus knew he took no orders but from the General Du Couteau himself. She paused slightly and planned her speech carefully, "I have no idea why, but I can assure you it was not by the orders of our house, and my sister, with many of our men, are currently putting up their best efforts in search for him. What one of our men did wrong will be righted by our own hands."

She had weaved through the topic as skillfully as she could, and mixing in lies and faked emotions as she went on. Of course Kat wasn't putting up her best effort, or any effort at all, last she knew. And Talon did _not_ …murder anybody of the Noxian high command. That much she was aware of as well.

As much as she excluded Talon from "family", she admitted that he was loyal, if not overly so, to their father. He owes his life to the general, of all things. And he was not somebody to repay it with pushing their house to the edge of falling.

Somebody else did, and chose him as the scapegoat. Just as he decided to run away, for some _other_ reason, and making it seem much more like he had indeed done it.

She knew too well who it was, and yet she had no choice but to still pin the charges onto Talon, in hopes of having him captured back to Noxus and executed. That way there might still be a chance of saving the house then, if they could claim that he acted on his own and not on orders. A slim one, but one she desperately grasped on.

If her sister would bring him back…that was.

She tried harder to pull her hand away, but his grasp was firm and unrelenting. This was no moment to allow her mind wander off to Talon's issue; she needed to save herself first.

"Please, sir, let go of me." She tried to convey her meaning politely and forcefully at the same time, and it was a difficult deed. His fingers tightened and she bit her lower lip from crying out under the sudden jab of pain.

She didn't dare to call for help. If this was truly a skilled killer from elsewhere, employed by enemies either from within the nation or without, she would be dead several times over before any help arrived, and he would have long gone.

Kat. Why didn't she bring her along as escort today, even though she knew well her sister's menacing presence would have impeded with her objectives? At least it would have saved her from this mess that she wasn't entirely confident of climbing out herself. At least Katarina actually knew how to use those blades she hidden, and in a skillful manner as well.

Her father was busy and probably couldn't come, but she could have brought along with her one of his men, each of them well trained and exceptionally loyal. Even _Talon_ , if he was here now, would save her.

But no, she was alone.

 _Please_ , she whispered silently to herself, _let somebody come and notice this. Let somebody help her._

And for once it worked, though not quite as she possibly wanted it to.

The piercing cry of a raven came before the person, and she snapped her head up to see the man who was arriving. Holding a cane he walked slowly and with a slight limp, but he had managed to arrive in utter silence, as if emerging from the shadows. And beside him, a bulky figure with dark hair followed his footsteps closely.

She had the sudden urge to whine, which she suppressed quickly. Of all people, _they_ had to come. Well…at least she was certain they were Noxians. A big improvement from the person she was interacting with right now.

"May I steal the Lady Du Couteau from you for a moment, young man?" came the questioning voice of General Jericho Swain, one that was supposed to mean a polite ask but had the underlying tone of an order.

He let go quickly and blinked in surprise, and she could see fear practically radiating off him. "Of course, general sir."

She rubbed her wrist and turned her body to face the two, bending her knees slightly to perform a formal curtsy as she was taught, and straightened again with a smile creeping back to her lips.

"Thank you." Though his tone was devoid of any thankfulness, but rather tinted with warning. The half-masked man turned his gaze to her, with the pitch-black raven cawing on his shoulder, "would you please follow me, Lady Du Couteau? I would like to have a short chat with you in my study, if you don't mind."

Her insides turned.

"Certainly not. It is my pleasure, General Swain."

"Good." And with that he turned to slowly hobble away with his walking-stick, the hand of Noxus waiting patiently behind to walk after her. Straightening her body she followed, not turning back to give a second glance to the man that she had a close call with moments ago.

But she was far from being safe. Far, far from it, as she followed the true killer, the one who framed his own crimes on Talon, straight into the heart of enemy territory.

* * *

For a few times in the past she has set foot in Jericho Swain's office, to bring messages from her father or run some errands, and every time it was no pleasant experience. The deep colored furnishings were nothing unusual in any room of Noxus, but the shadows here bothered her. She could almost feel magic flowing beneath those dark figures, as if giving them life…and since Swain was not only a master tactician but a mage as well, she wondered if it could truly be so.

She was offered a seat which she accepted, and guarded—the best word she could think of—by Darius, standing right by her side. It bothered her even more, to have Swain's right-hand man so close to herself, but she straightened up and regained her posture nonetheless, keeping her expression interested and tense. Smiling does not work with this man.

"I assume Talon's doings are no new topic to your ears, Lady Du Couteau, so let us not go over it again." The gaze of both him and the crow was equally piercing, and it pained to just maintain eye contact with both of them. She resisted the urge to avert her eyes.

Cassiopeia knew the chat was going to go this way before she even followed them here. Of course. What else could there be for him to talk to her about?

"However, I have heard…rumors, let's say, about your sister. Putting not enough effort into her searches, or even offering the traitor aid. It _is_ untrue, is it not?"

Oh, great. Her sense of foreboding has come true.

"I merely want to confirm this with you, and rest assured, I am not accusing Lady Katarina Du Couteau or your family in any way. Just to check." His stare bore into her mind, as if flipping through all of her thoughts with no impediment, and she wondered if it could actually be just so. She had no idea if Swain's magic allowed him to mind-read or not.

She leaned forwards slightly, and allowing her tone to become slightly exasperated and offended, just slightly, so to emphasize her point, "of course she is doing her best, general, I can swear it. My sister is fiercely loyal, both to our house and to Noxus, and the entire empire stands as witness. I would rather wish you don't have any doubts on her loyalty."

Perhaps she has overdone it? Scolding herself mentally she pondered back on her words as soon as they came out, but indeed she was irritable right now, and it did not improve her socializing skills.

"To both the Du Couteau House and Noxus, you say." He squinted and tasted those words on his tongue, and she felt that the atmosphere grew suddenly tense, "and what if they conflict?"

No. No, no, no, this was getting dangerous.

"What if…" she felt like talking to a snake, venomous and dangerous, one that could kill her with words in an instant, "what if she must choose one to serve, then? Would it be your house…or Noxus? How will your sister choose, Lady Cassiopeia?"

She straightened up and returned his gaze with a steady one of her own, though inside a blizzard was blowing. Those kinds of questions were the type she hated most. Because the true answer was one she could not give.

"To serve our house is to serve Noxus, general. I see no difference between them."

"Yet there is." The snake lashed out towards her again, and she felt her blood run cold, "You are incredibly sensitive and intelligent, dear girl, and I see no need for us to play games with each other, don't you think so?"

No, there was no need, because she could not win a game against the master tactician. It was impossible.

"She would serve Noxus." Was her answer, simple and curt, and she elaborated only after the silence settling between them was becoming intolerable, "and by doing so she served our house. In the end, they all come together. Thus my sister has and will never, never neglect a single need of this nation, never disobey a single order. She is loyal, and so are my father and I."

"Yes; of course she would be." Swain's eyes gleamed with a light that she wanted to run away from, but forcing herself to stay poised and steady, she sat with her hands folded as he slowly rummaged through file after file on his table, eventually coming to a pause and drawing on from it, "and now I have a little favor to ask of you as well."

She eyed the brown-covered envelope with suspicion, and took it as it was handed over.

"The High Command needs you to depart for Shurima, and search for something we need there."

Shurima. Inwardly she shivered at the thought; when she was still a young girl her father took her there once, and the sandstorm they happened to encounter left a lasting impression. It was a dangerous land, one where dead bodies of those who died of thirst littered the sands, their flesh never decaying for it was so dry. It was the land of her childhood nightmares.

And now she was being sent there.

"An ancient artifact, to be precise." He went on in a flat, emotionless tone, and she listened carefully, "one that holds great power and could change our nation forever. With it, I assure you, Noxus will overpower Demacia for the centuries to come, and for generations we have been searching for it. Now it is located, in the heart of the Shurima desert, buried in a tomb. We hope for you to retrieve it to Noxus."

A bronze disc with the map of the desert lay in the envelope, along with letters, notes, torn-out book pages and carefully written instructions. She studied them, and felt uncomfortable just at the thought.

"Such an honor to bestow on me, general." She murmured as she skimmed quickly through the contents of the envelope, "and yet I am no warrior or fighter, but only a girl. I walk on ballroom floors, not scorching sands. Why send me? I could well fail a task of this importance."

"Ah." In anticipation the general sighed, one that she knew was fake because she did so as well, "I do trust you to succeed in this, as I know your wits well, and perhaps your skills on fighting isn't quite as horrid as you thought. It is in the blood of the Du Couteaus, I am certain."

Her eyes caught on an image of a black-haired woman, standing with a boomerang blade beside her, and recognized her immediately. Sivir, the famous mercenary from Shurima. Once worked for Noxus, but broke off her contract years back. She knew her.

"You would require an escort and guide of course, to find your way deep into the desert, and we would strongly recommend Sivir. With the name of the Battle Mistress, I believe you would find her fitting to protect you along the way…and you may have specific need of her in the tombs."

Specific need? She frowned and sealed the envelope once more. Whatever this was supposed to mean, she knew it meant danger. Great degrees of danger.

"I shall remember to, general." And yet dangerous as it was, she could not refuse. She couldn't. For the sake of her family she had to accept this so-called mission with all its risks, in order to not push the accusations of the Du Couteau House's loyalty further.

"Then I wish you the best of luck." She would need it. "Transportation has been arranged for you; you will leave at daybreak, three days from today. Is that clear?"

"Yes, general."

She had no choice. If the cruel sands of Shurima was what she needed to face to save her house, she would do it. Just as she would let Talon die a guiltless death for this goal. Everything she does must be for the best of the Du Couteau's, no matter what the sacrifice.

It was her sole responsibility.

"Then you are dismissed, and I thank you for your time tonight, Lady Du Couteau. Enjoy the ball."

She stood and left, her movement still smooth and graceful, and she successfully forced a smile to reappear on her face before arriving in the hall.

Yes, she better enjoy it the best she could.

It could well be her last chance to.

* * *

 **A/N: Huh, I found both Cassiopeia and Swain very challenging to write, since I personally am totally not into politics at all. Hope I did not OOC too badly.**  
 **FYI, the dude named Alexander is probably one of the few OCs that will be popping up in more than one chapter (if not the only one), and I have no intentions to do an OC X Cassiopeia pairing. At all. So rest assured :D**


	5. Chapter 4: Talon

**A/N: I apologize for this chapter to come so insanely late. School has not been easy on me and with finals in front and high school looming on the horizon, I'm sorta surprised that I actually managed to find time to finish this chapter. Also I have developed a recent addiction to Malzahar and am currently wasting buckets of time to practice using him, which eats up most of the tiny bit of free time I have. So yah. I have not been writing a lot. I'll be updating even more irregularly in the future but hopefully somewhat more frequently than what this chapter took.**

 **Thanks to all of you who left a review or clicked follow/fav or just decided to read this thing. You are awesome.**

 **I've been informed that there are grammatical/punctuation mistakes in this thing and I'll try to go over it with more care, especially on basic things. I rely heavily on Microsoft word to correct my grammar and if it gives no response I probably can't find grammar problems myself and I'm sorry. I'll be correcting the punctuation and capitalization around quotes though.**

 **This is a relatively long chapter so do enjoy.**

* * *

 **[Talon]**

His eyes were tired from straining in search in the dark. Normally on mission nights there has always been a slight moon to light their way, enough to carve out form from shadow but not too bright as to expose them as well, or lamplight from the building their target resides in, and on those nights his watch was not quite so exhausting. Yet tonight there was not the faintest trace of any light, at all, and he could barely see the swaying of the branches, one arm's length from his face, not to mention what he was supposed to be waiting for.

It was unsettling, and he felt handicapped in this darkness, though it was not an overly unfamiliar environment. Once, years ago, he used to hide in the sewers under darkness like this…but then he was alone and had a wall to his back, and the toxic waters blocked whoever tended to come after him, most of the time. But not like this. Never like this, lodged in a tree like some sort of eerie nocturnal animal, searching hungrily for prey.

He wondered how long would it be till their target appeared. There was a fair chance of him not arriving anyways—as he didn't for the past two days—and Talon was getting slightly impatient of the lengthy wait. He was surprised that Katarina didn't explode already, though surely it couldn't be long until she does.

Glancing sideways, he could just barely make out the smooth lines that mark the pale face of the other assassin. She had already dozed off, unsurprisingly, and was now leaning at a dangerous angle with half her body dangling off the branch, prone to fall any moment. Knowing that she wouldn't really fall to the ground—there were thin ropes that bound her to the tree as safeguard—he sighed lightly and turned his focus back to the shadowy muddle of contorted shapes below.

They've established a watch routine with one of them awake at night and the other resting, and vice versa, years back. Until now they used it, and before every mission they decided who would take the unwanted night watch by a round of sparring. Unnecessarily a fair one; they kept a little box filled with ideas on how to give their matches a little twist, and he had the rotten luck to draw the slip commanding him to fight weaponless and with one hand bound. He wondered if Katarina stuck it in secretly before consulting him; probably so, and here he is keeping the painstaking night watch.

A fruitless night again, it would seem as well. He was dully aware that the time was not early, and dawn's steps were nearing, but without the place of the moon in the sky he could not tell with certainty. And their target has still not made his presence.

Beside him, the red-head shifted. He tensed immediately at the rustling of leaves, then relaxed as he realized its origin.

Yet…there was more than one source of sound.

He eyed the shadowy branches warily. She was still fast asleep and no longer tossing and turning, yet the soft rustling did not stop. It could be the wind, but he felt no breeze on his cheeks.

It fell silent again, and for what seemed like hours no other sound could be heard. He breathed slowly and deeply, careful so to not rouse any possible attention, and straining his eyes he searched for a target, finding none. He was starting to think of it as a product of his paranoia when the rustling came again. Behind him.

Turning swiftly, he instinctively raised his armblade to deflect the blow, the clear ring of steel against steel vibrating through the woods. He braced himself for a second blow and combat, but the attacker was gone quickly as he came. Fast, soundless, lethal—this was a well-trained assassin, who learned the same way he did. One that once served the house of Du Couteau as he does now.

A traitor.

He was slightly taken unprepared at the skillfulness of their target, though he knew any man who comes from the General Marcus' training would not be a bad one. Perhaps he was here all the time for the past few days…and patiently waited for them to leave. Musing on it he found that very possible, seeing that he chose a hit-and-run strategy with them; this would mark him as extremely cautious, somebody difficult to catch and kill.

Beside him came an angry feminine growl. "I hope you haven't dropped another of your blades this time."

"Had a nice dream, sleeping beauty?" He mocked, his gaze still not breaking from the shadows. He heard the breaking of ropes and soon felt her creeping to his backside, the tough leather of her garments rubbing against his, back to back, so her vigilant watch would cover what his doesn't.

"Hell yes." She muttered a string of swears under her breath, too quick for him to capture, and invisibly he grinned. For a highborn girl, a daughter of nobility, Katarina can have a pretty dirty mouth at times, especially when her patience is wearing out, "The traitor's finally here, huh?"

"Took him long enough, but yes."

He heard the strike before he saw it, and was not the slightest bit worried, having confidence in her skill. Another hit came, and this time the assailant went for her. Easily she parried and was prepared to lodge another half dozen of knives into him, but he was gone again, leaving behind another string of curse words from Katarina.

"This son of a bitch is officially _my_ kill. Don't steal him from me, Talon."

Her tone was utterly enraged, and he could hear the sound of blades being drawn out of their sheaths. He raised and readied his armblade, smirking and pulling out a dagger of his own with the other hand. "Not planning to."

"Good." She snarled, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the glimmer of delicate blades between her fingers, "I am _so_ going to stick my knives up his sorry ass—"

That was when the next hit came, and she was more than prepared to intercept it. Deflecting the blow and sending another clear ring through the trees, she huffed and her warmth disappears just as fast as the attacker does, using shunpo to follow him.

Talon slowly turned and backed away until his back was pressed against the rough bark of tree branches. No sound could be heard except the soft brushing of leaves against clothing, and whether it was Katarina's or the traitor's he could not tell. He listened carefully for the scraping of blades, or the dull thud when a knife gets buried into wood, yet could capture nothing.

The chase was still on, that much he was sure of. Or else most certainly furious yells of hers could be heard again, even at this distance. He promised not to take the target this time, but made no promise about sitting around and doing nothing…and anyways, both of them would tarnish the Du Couteau reputation if they failed. What a nationwide joke for the famed house of assassins to let a betrayer get away.

He waited until the first grey beams of dawn were slipping out in the distance, and he could make out the dim outlines of leaves and twigs and two distant, blurry shadows. That was when came a shrill scrape of metal, then a joyous but angered cry, "Got you, bastard!" followed by a mix of screams, yells and weapons clanking against each other.

Turning his head towards the sound source, he found it wasn't as far away as he expected: twenty meters, maybe thirty out? It was easy to get lost in these woods, especially on treetop and in total darkness, and he would not be surprised if they circled far and returned here. Bracing himself, he sprinted lightly and silently over the branches, landing every footfall with care, as he caught up quickly with the two, the blades fastened to his cloak softly clinking against each other. Katarina has already got their target fully occupied—a middle-aged man, with a wispy beard and beady eyes, putting up hard but nearly useless resistance against the aggressive slashes of the redhead—so for a moment there was not much for him to do. Staying in the shadows and concealment of foliage, he watched as they combated, careful not to be discovered, and prepared to strike whenever needed.

He was not quite needed, however, as it was obvious that she was overpowering the weary man who probably caught little rest for the past few days, though beads of sweat was emerging on her forehead as well. Yes, she would be able to defeat him singlehandedly, but when…? He frowned at the thought of his fellow assassin to be unnecessarily tiring herself or risking being wounded, as if they are attacked during the day he would need her strength, and it was a waste of time anyways. He'd like to be safe than sorry.

Picking his time and target carefully, he pounced soundlessly down onto the ground, thickly carpeted by fallen leaves and dead grass, behind the fighting two, and thrust his armblade right through his back. Drawing it back out cleanly, he shook the blade so to let the droplets naturally roll off, and watched, with a hard emotionless mask, as their target fell into a heap on the ground.

His doings successfully earned a murderous glare from Katarina: "I told you that he's my kill, Talon!"

"He's not dead yet, see for yourself. Finish him then." He shrugged and turned, unfastening his blade to cleanse it further. His hit was carefully planned out to badly wound but not kill, and he was certain that the man would stay alive for Kat to deliver the last blow, so he did not, technically, break his promise. Though it probably won't be quite so satisfying to her.

Her glower was so piercing he could feel it even with his back turned. Hearing the soft sounds of blades being buried into flesh, he counted them and found it too many for a clean kill. She was likely to be letting out her anger in irrational ways, and knowing her he decided not to interfere.

Until it was getting slightly extreme did he finally turn, armblade in hand but unfastened, glancing down on the tortured body strewn with knife cuts of varying depths, a dark pool forming beneath it. Raising an eyebrow he lightly remarked, "That is going to take quite a bit of work to cover up."

"We're in the middle of nowhere." She points out.

"True." Trying to find an assassin amongst thousands or even just a hundred of other people could be painstakingly difficult, as they both knew, so they tracked him down and waited to ambush him at one of the many secret bunkers the Du Couteau house has kept hidden over the years for its men to use, which happened to be in absolute wilderness. It was, at the very least, half a day's worth of travelling on foot to the nearest town, and straying far off the main road used by travelers. But there could be rangers, hunters, others like that who might just happen to roam here and find the body…and since they are slightly into the boarders of Demacia, he would rather not risk having the hideout spotted and destroyed.

"He's dead anyways. The dead can't talk. Can't whisper secrets."

"So he is."

"And this asshole betrayed father and our house together for Jericho Swain. He totally deserves to be tortured and dissected, dead or alive, and have his corpse pecked on by crows—"

"And I agree with you; he deserves this, yes." Slipping his armblade back into place, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned on the tree behind him, eyeing the mangled body lying on the ground, blood seeping even further into the earth, "But that does not mean _we_ can leave him in such a mess. Cleaning up after your kills is a basic rule."

Her groan was clearly audible, and slowly she bent down in attempt to lift the body up, only breaking the nearly-severed arm into half. He watched in gloating amusement.

"Can we just burn it? This is going to take impossibly long." She complained, giving up with her attempt to lift it from the ground, and turned to rummage for her thrown knives from the flesh. Soon she had a handful of them, all tainted with the dark red-brownish half-dried liquid, d moved on to wipe them on her leathers and putting them back into place.

He raised his eyebrows and caught a slowly drifting leaf from above, holding it out to her to show the obvious answer, "We are in woods, Katarina. Unless you want to start a massive fire…"

"Sure, why not?" she growled, her fingers deft and nimble and unstopping, "It's faster than this. And I don't see anything wrong with destroying some Demacian greenery."

"Something of that kind would definitely draw quite some attention. I'd prefer leaving this place as it is."

Giving up, she plucked the last of her throwing blades from the body, and kicked it lightly towards him, glaring a threat, "Fine, then, if you so insist, you take care of this. I'm done."

He stood, unmoving, and reminded her with an innocent tone, "He's your kill, not mine."

" _You_ broke your word so _you_ are going to clean up." She stated simply, with a logic that sounded surprisingly like a six-year-old, he reflected to himself, giving up trying to refute her that he didn't actually snatch her kill. Watching her turn and leave without hesitation, he shook his head, crouching down in front of the corpse, considering possible ways to dispose of the body. Yes, it would be fairly easy to just burn it, and also fairly conspicuous; perhaps burying it and covering the area up with a layer of foliage would do the work, but that would take long.

Sighing he went to work, hoping that they were back in Noxus where a dead man left around was no interesting thing and would rouse little attention, or he could even just dump him into the sewers and solve the problem. Yet out here his options were too limited, and Katarina was not helping him either.

And also…their problems may not just be over how to take care of a dead target.

He could sense the danger before it came, though for a moment he was not worried; surely she would be able to react and block the attacker, whoever it was, and seeing the state she was in it might be better to let her abreact this way, taking out her anger on the next assailant.

But instead the strike came, forceful and fast, and though he managed to tilt his body at the last moment the blade still dug into flesh, sending a sudden stab of pain through his neck as blood seeped from the wound.

She did not stop the attack for him.

For Katarina herself was the attacker.

Stunned, he found himself unmoving for several seconds, his mind trying to process the meaning of this—of cold steel biting into his neck, of the redhead that held the weapon in her hand, of how and why she was trying to kill him so suddenly. She struck with an objective of death, it was obvious, and he was about to die at her hands.

His eyes stared straight into her emerald ones, like gazing deep down into a jade-colored lake with dark shadows shimmering beneath, but her eyes now were wild and focused and lethal. The way predator sees prey. The way executioners see prisoners.

He was about to die, and she was the one killing him.

For seconds he was unsure even if he should fight back. His fellow assassin could be under the manipulation of black magic, could have been forced, could be somebody else entirely in disguise, and he had no idea which. It was moments later when he finally, finally seemed to awake from an unbelieving trance, and gripping his own blade he prepared to counterstrike as the pain slowly ate away at his consciousness, threatening to push him into a perilous pitch-black void.

But her weight was gone, along with the knife, and suddenly it seemed like he was and has always been alone again. Only leaves whispered in the background, using their own soft tongue that he could not understand. She stood, silently, facing away from him against a tree, and in her hand was a still-dripping dagger, the red continuing to stain the forest floor. He could not see her face.

She did try to kill him, then.

Slowly he raised his hand to the cut left by her, deep and painful but not fatal, which was queer. When an assassin strikes it's always to kill, even during their daily sparring routines, and that was obviously her aim as well; yet for some reason she stopped halfway and pushed away, though with his pause she had plenty of time to end his life.

So why didn't she? Holding the wound together he backed away bit by bit, his gaze focused steadily on her. Should he even ask? It would be safer and wiser to run, he knew, as in this shape he stood no chance against her should she strike again, but he wanted…needed…to know why.

The same question was thrown towards him, "Why didn't you fight back?"

The redhead's voice was surprisingly unstable and soft that for a moment he thought it was Cassiopeia speaking. She still did not turn to face him, and the wind twisted her fiery hair at its fingertips, spreading into a sheet of crimson that shielded half her body.

"I tried to kill you. No, I would have killed you." A sharp, bitter edge crept into her words as she spoke, "And you did nothing. Aren't you father's most prized blade, Talon? You did not act like it."

With his gaze fixated on her he contemplated on the answers he could give, coming up with nothing. He was startled at her being the attacker, of course, but that would not suffice in explaining the reason his reaction came so late, in explaining his hesitation. By instincts and by training he should have counterstriked immediately, instead of pondering on reasons and excuses for his killer.

"I have sworn fealty to the general." Was his reply, "Thus I won't harm his daughters."

He could practically feel the disbelief she held. Of course it was nonsense; loyalty, family, friendship, all that is secondary in Noxus to the defeat of one's enemies. And anybody who attacks you well qualifies as an "enemy", no matter who it was. The Demacians had all those sacrificial martyr concepts; they did not, especially not on a slum-born assassin.

"No," she shook her head and turned slightly to face him, her grip on the blade tighter than ever, "No, that is not a reason. _Why,_ Talon?"

He couldn't answer. Their eyes met and clashed, amber against emerald, and slowly, as he read through layers of emotions that she put little effort into concealing, realization dawned on him as he understood the reason her knife found his throat.

And now he needed to know…why she did _not_ kill him.

"And you stopped. Unlike you, as well." His gaze was steady but questioning, and the fresh wound on his neck bit deep whenever he spoke. It was painful but will not kill him…yet. "Why?"

They were forced into stalemate with neither offering an answer first. He could feel the warm liquid trickling down his neck at an unmoving pace, and he would not have long to maintain a staring contest with her; the loss of blood would push him into fatigue soon. And she must have realized it too.

With a quiet but firm ordering voice came her words, as she turned back again and started to walk away, "Go to the nearest hideout. There will be medical supplies there; fix yourself." Both her speech and her walk paused slightly at that as she glanced back, quickly, only to turn away once more, "And don't bother returning to Noxus."

He was so close to an answer that he would rather not believe. So close, and then she pushed him away, far and determined and without remorse.

"You'll be twenty in seven months, Katarina. Would you rather it be Cassiopeia instead?"

"I am perfectly aware of my own age." Her words came out strangely sharp as her pace only sped up slightly, the youthful female voice drawing farther and farther, "And if I am going to do it, I want it to be a fair duel, with father as witness. I should never have done what I did today. I never did it." She paused there, as if in contemplation of what she was going to say—strange for her, whose tongue tended to always be faster than her mind, "And I would rather it be neither of you. Now leave, run, and don't come back."

With that she was gone, leaving him staring at the corpse, cold and dead.

He called out to nobody in particular, in a voice no louder than his natural volume in regular conversation, "For how long?"

"Until the next time we meet, Talon." Came her reply from the winds, "Until the next time we meet."

Closing his eyes he nodded to himself, slowly walking away, leaving the body unattended—for the first time. She was gone now, surely, and silently he debated on whether to listen to her words or not. It would be best…for him to not return.

He would have killed her, for she could never win him in a fair fight. She never has and never will.

He would have killed her.

* * *

Talon blinked awake in slight surprise. The gentle rays of dawn broke through his thin veil of sleep, pouring down between the canopies of leaves that shielded them. The rain has stopped then, perhaps hours ago; he wondered to himself as a few last droplets fell on his face and clothing.

Turning his gaze to the side, the white-haired exile was also in slumber. Yes…the later half of the night was his watch, as they agreed on, and he dozed off midway. It was foolish and undutiful, he berated himself inwardly, and extremely risky as well, seeing that they have just suffered attack earlier that night. He should have kept awake, instead of allowing the memories slowly seep into his dreams. It did no good to either of them.

Perhaps the fight and then the struggle through the storm had worn him out more than he thought. Silently he stood up and brushed the dry, caked mud off his garments, fastening his armblade tight and tried wielding it, and, wincing, he felt his left shoulder screaming in pain. The wound would take its time to heal, of course, just like the one on his neck…he slowly raised a hand to the place where Katarina's knife had scarred it nicely, the skin still tingling in discomfort. It had only just healed a week back, and with the dream he felt like it was only inflicted on him yesterday.

The dream was honest, and because it was, it troubled him. It was nothing out of his expectations—he knew her blades would be pointed towards him, someday, since years ago—yet Katarina herself decided to force an open duel between them was the troubling part. She made a suicidal decision, and now he was trying to protect her by running away—it was ironic, _pathetic_ , and he had no idea why he decided to do so, reflecting on it now.

It was just impossible to say that he… _could not_ …harm her, yet it was true. Something impeded his reflexes to act like they should the second he realized his attacker, something that forced him into hesitation and uncertainty, something which made him _weak_ at the time, and still does now.

Emotion.

The closeness that they shared with each other now burned against them as a necessary choice must be made, and he could tell that it was wrong. So wrong. _Never let your heart submerge your blade_ , that was the teaching of the Du Couteau family and all assassins, yet they both came perilously close to breaking it. And because he feared…he ran.

Stringed music resonated through the trees, slowly increasing in volume, and half awake and lost in thoughts he only just realized its presence. The tune was wonderfully soothing, but it only made him tense as it poured into his ears.

Some other person was present, and judging from the sound whoever the player was must be near. If anything, he'd prefer staying far away from Ionian natives; Noxians were generally viewed with hostility on this island, and their faces and weapons proved Noxian enough. Crouching down he gave his companion a quick shove, whispering loudly and harshly into her ear, "Get up. We need to move."

That woke her up almost immediately, though a thin veil of drowsiness still clouded her eyes. Blinking several times she scanned the area, reaching for her runed sword that she kept right beside herself, "Another attack?"

"No. Just normal Ionians, I'd say, but we need to leave. Now."

The music was soft and slow, mingling in with the hushed rustlings of foliage, and it took her some time to realize what she was hearing. Scrambling to her feet, she snatched the sword up and turned to stare at the general direction of its origin.

The storm from last night was bad, and the howling gales could have easily swept them off their intended track and too close to inhabited villages, he assumed while tiding up the last traces of their temporary stay. But it was only a common musician; as long as they moved quickly, no harm would be done.

Or so he thought.

It was when the white-haired exile started walking towards the sound instead of away from it did he realize something was wrong. Quickly he appeared behind her, tugging her back by the arm, asking in a low but fierce voice, "What are you doing?"

"I—" her voice broke off midway, with a look of uncertainty. Slowly she twisted her arm free, "I think…I know…who's playing. We don't need to run."

He stared at her in questioning. Yes, Riven had spent her time in Ionia alright, but it was queer that she could know the identity of someone just by listening. It was queer that anybody could. Patiently he lowered his hand, waiting for her explanation, which came after a lengthy pause.

"I met her…well, some time back. Accurately I can't recall. She wouldn't do us any harm, and your wound…"Eyeing the gash on his shoulder, she spoke in a slight wavering tone, "She can probably help you with that. I think it's a good idea to go see her."

He raised an eyebrow slightly, pulling his half-wet hood lower to let the shadows conceal his face untrustingly, "Who is she?" Even if Riven states that she could be a possible ally, he would rather not take the risk. He suspected that with their…sensitive position, rarely anybody on the entire of Valoran will consider them as "not enemies".

The music came to a sudden halt, and he immediately spun around, raising his blade up high in defense. From the sea of jade shaded leaves came a faint rustling, and two female figures slowly emerged from within, gliding smoothly across the still muddy forest floor, into the clearing where they rested for the night. He gritted his teeth and backed away, preparing for the worse to come.

The maiden slightly behind was the musician, he could see from the ancient Ionian fashioned instrument she held in her arms, a wooden case with many strings strung over it. Her hair was in double ponytails, flowing like blue waves of the sea, fading slowly into a shade of pale yellow at its ends. The other was an older woman, clothed in traditional garments of this island, with a Mantle of Decorum in the shape of the Ionian symbol floating behind her head. Both were plenty familiar to him.

He had seen both their faces on the list of potential targets that he may be sent to assassinate.

"Lady Sona Buvelle," he quietly named them, nodding at each one in its turn, and leaving his guard up and alert, "And Duchess Karma." He should run. Now. Immediately, while he still can, and if Riven insisted on staying, fine. If anything, he knew these two women were dangerous, lethal on the battlefield. And neither had alliances with Noxus.

"So you know us." Spoke the elder one of the two, her eyes gazing steadily yet piercingly, as if seeing straight through him, "And us you as well. Greetings, Talon." Her focus shifted to the exile beside him, "We meet again, Riven."

So indeed his fellow Noxian had encounters with the locals, and not just the pheasants alone. His eyes flickered from the two Ionians to Riven and back again, tensing himself in preparation for combat. His body was still in no condition to fight yet, though, and he knew the odds of him and Riven winning if they struck right now was slim. But not impossible.

"Hello, Duchess. And I thought it would be you, Sona." The mute musician merely inclined her head in greeting, plucking several of the strings on her instrument—an etwahl, he dimly recalled—as Riven's voice came from beside him. Backing away bit by bit he eyed them carefully for a chance to escape, but soon he hit a wall of pure emerald energy.

…Great.

He had not the slightest confidence for an Ionian and a Demacian to be friendly to him. Friendliness was scarcely shown towards him from anybody, and he expected none from these two.

"Please, don't fret. We mean no harm." As if he would believe that, "Allow us to have a chat. It may be beneficial to all of us."

Talking was one of the things he was horrid on, especially talking with one's enemies. That was generally the field where Cassiopeia Du Couteau specialized in; it never bothered him or Katarina. Their blades spoke for them faster and cleaner, so there was no need for their mouths to.

He stared at them, his eyes cold, with an obvious message that he refused to have this…so-called chat. From the corner of his eye he could see Riven's posture uncomfortable as well; neither of them would enjoy this conversation, yet both were in no condition to fight.

As if to convince them, a soft smile appeared on the musician's face, and she slowly drew her fingers across the strings, playing a soothing melody that flowed on the early morning breezes. The pain of his shoulder wound ebbed away slowly with the music, and in surprise he raised the other hand to the gash inflicted only last night, finding it already mending at an unnaturally speedy pace, leaving only a dull, throbbing pain behind. Magic's work, he assumed. He was not unfamiliar with magic—at times it was necessary for him to encounter it, and he had fought with sorcerers enough to understand its doings when he comes across one—but magic interlaced with music…that makes it inevitable and thus dangerous. It hardened his resolve to avoid a fight right now and here.

Which left no choice but to patiently endure whatever the two wanted with them.

Karma walked closer with a slow but steady pace, her posture remaining graceful and poised, the wind slightly ruffling her robes. A pair of fans were dangling loosely at her fingertips, and as she shifted her gaze back to him, he felt increasingly uncomfortable being around the Ionian Duchess.

"I know," she started, her voice even and calm, unstirred by the fact his blade was raised high and threatening, "That you have been roaming our lands for week. Yet I see you come with no hostility towards this nation or its people; you come not to assassinate, not to infiltrate, and there are many of your own kind on your trail. You are hunted and on the run."

She stated each sentence with little rise or fall of tone, every word coming out in a way that he could not retort, and finally the question came, "For what, and why?"

He had no intention of replying. If she saw and knew all that, he was certain that she knew more. There was no point in answering anyways, and he had learnt to keep his mouth shut tight from spilling unwanted secrets. It was a nearly instinctive habit to him now.

And truly…he himself did not know. Why was he running? What did he need to escape? He knew now that the death of a High Command general is framed on him, and thus he can no longer return without risking capture and almost certain execution, but if he did not listen to Katarina and leave…at all…perhaps it could have be avoided. Only perhaps.

He is back to the starting point of wondering his own motives once again.

Sona's fingers gently plucked a melody, one with no magic hidden in its notes, and he could hear the simple meaning that she conveys with her music. Trust, she advised, and speak. Yet there was no chance he could ever, possibly, trust them; no chance that he would ever willingly tell his mind to likely enemies, peace-loving or not. It was dangerous and unwise.

So instead he waited, returning her gaze with a piercing one of his own, and waited for more to be spoken. To see just how much was known by the Ionian Duchess.

"You do not wish to converse with us, then." Understanding him easily enough, the stately woman turned to face Riven instead, her tone unmoved, "And you, Riven? Do you wish to share with us the story of how the two of you found each other?"

The exile eyed her closely and in suspicion, giving a curt yet surprisingly polite answer, "I happened to stumble across him, Duchess. There is no more to it than that." Military training is something that is rarely washed away by time, and an assassin's training especially so. The Crimson Elite never had a single loose tongue.

A slightly more dissonant chord came from the strings of Sona's etwahl, expressing a slight irritation, but the flow of the melody did not seem broken.

"I see. So you have little knowledge of the reasons our unexpected visitor arrived." Little reasons, not none, he quickly noted, "And he is unwilling to chat. How unfortunate."

Yes, he is unwilling to speak about this, of all things. Despite the calming and soothing sensation that both etwahl's music and the even speech of Karma brings upon him, he would not be sharing this—or anything.

He escaped to this eastern island to stay away from this special fragment of the recent past which haunted him, not to recall them again.

"Then I must make a guess. Shall I?"

A clear ring of one single strong note came from beneath the skilled musician's fingers, marking an abrupt end to her song, and allowed silence to settle in again. It was a foreboding silence, one that he would desperately wish to avoid, because of what was likely coming up next.

"Hours before, while the storm still raged," She spoke steadily, her eyes transfixed back on him, and though with his hood pulled up and half his face concealed he felt exposed in front of the Ionian, the Mantle of Decorum floating behind her shimmering with a slight menacing quality, "We watched your struggle through the gales, with Riven beside you. And she asked the same question as I did: why."

He closed his eyes in a quiet exasperation. Yes, indeed, it had happened; and they had seen it, somehow, by eyes hidden in the winds and shadows. He needed to constantly remind himself that this was hostile territory, even if it was a land of peace lovers; his guard must never be down.

"Your answer was…quite queer."

What was his answer again? Tired and wounded and impatient in the middle of the night, he doubted the clarity of his memories.

"You said to her, that if you did not leave, you will end up killing the Lady Katarina of house Du Couteau." Every syllable came out in a strange clipped fashion from her, as her deep shaded eyes bore into his mind, "Whose father your blade is sworn to."

…yes. That would be it.

He would have killed Katarina. And because he has a sworn loyalty to the General Du Couteau, he had no choice but to obey the implied orders given. His knives fought for and only for the General, so as unwilling as he was, he had to do it.

And by running, he had defied his commands. He had betrayed an oath sworn years ago.

Indeed he was…a traitor, to think of it this way.

"This, I fail to comprehend. From the little known of you and your house, Talon, I can say that you had not a hostile experience with them, and certainly one does not attempt to harm the family of one's…master."

Yes, it was a self-contradictory situation. Which was the reason he had to leave in the first place. Or so he convinced himself.

"You have not been maltreated, disrespected, endangered. You do not strike me as someone avaricious enough to crave the wealth of enemies, or someone dumb enough to betray for it. Thus I must push my guess further."

A clear ring from the etwahl. The dull scraping sound of a heavy sword being drawn across dirt.

Slowly, slightly, he lowered his blade, amber irises staring intensively from beneath the shadows.

"On the steep slopes of Mount Targon resides a tribe who name themselves the Rakkor." Karma started with a sudden, sharp change in topic, and he could nearly feel the change in her tone, suddenly showing a tense edge. "Its people are the most warlike of all Valoran, and the strongest of warriors as well. And it has a rite, passed down and upheld generation upon generation. 'The Rite of Kor', it is named."

It was not unfamiliar, and dimly he could recall stories about this, whispers he happened to catch during missions or when wandering in the slums. Nothing of any importance. Nothing that he ever needed to care.

Yet it felt…

He felt the words of hers, notoverly emotional or subjective, pushing him slowly onto a dangerous slippery edge. Eventually he will lose his foothold. Eventually his secrets will be betrayed to her, willingly or not.

"Before the end of their sixteenth year, every member of the Rakkor tribe must fight with another of his or her age. It will be a fight to the death, and the one who survives becomes an acknowledged warrior of the tribe. The one who does not is unlamented for." A short pause, with rustlings and faraway chirps filling in the emptiness, "How interestingly similar this is, this rule of the strong alone shall survive, to the Noxus of my knowledge. And so I wonder…"

Now the last shove was coming. Inches away from slipping over the side, he grasped desperately for something to tether himself to, and finding none. He was never the one who relied on people or things to stable himself, and now there were no options available at all.

She would know. Only a step from the truth…she knows.

"…Could it be, that a similar rite exists, in your Nation as well?"

Yes. Yes, there is.

"In your house, a line of skilled assassins, a tradition deems you must fight her to the death…could it be, Talon? Did I guess correctly?"

The Ionian Duchess was smart, too smart in his opinion. Backing away further from her, as far as he possibly could, he surveyed her warily and with exasperation. It was true; rule, tradition, test, whatever it may be called, it required a death between him and Katarina.

The Du Couteau family has a long history, yet unlike most noble houses, there has never been a struggle of power within. Completely due to the fact that only one legible heir may survive past his twentieth year. The others are all slain by the hands of the sole victor, the strongest of all male siblings, who will eventually become the head of house and continue this practice. Even though with this generation, the General Marcus Du Couteau has begotten only two daughters, the rite must continue.

It was meaningless to put Katarina up against Cassiopeia; the latter was barely trained in the way of the blade, and her value to both the house and Noxus forced an exception. She would likely be married off to another family anyways, just as most females in the history of the Du Couteaus did, and posed little threat to Katarina's inheritance. Yet giving her no competition would have spoiled her easily, resulting in a weak, arrogant heir…disastrous.

She needed to experience it. Not just for eliminating competitors, but by slaying someone who one lived with, trained with, known and bonded closely with, true killers are born. A true assassin who emerges from the blood of those she once loved, relentless, heartless, and willing to raise her blade against any target when ordered. It rids you of a burden, a weakness that could be exploited by enemies, and makes you stronger.

That is the essence of this ritual. And the reason that they both failed to perform it.

"Tell me, Talon. Am I correct?" a string of dissonant notes flowed from the etwahl in Sona's hands, and with it the stern voice of Karma.

He glanced sideways, catching an uncertain expression flickering across the face of the white-haired swordswoman, and grimaced slightly so that his expression will still be unreadable with a layer of shadows draped over it.

If she won him, she would truly become Du Couteau's first female heir. If he won…the General will adopt him through official means, add a surname to Talon, and declare him as the successor. Whether you had the blood of the family was secondary to whether you had the strength and loyalty to it. That was always the way assassins operated.

"Yes." He rasped, standing incredibly still, glaring viciously at the Ionian woman in front of him, "Yes, your guess is accurate. I have now told you what you sought. Am I free to leave, Duchess?"

The General deemed him the one that Katarina must slay to secure her future seat, and he should—no, he must raise his blade in response. It was his duty. There was no escaping it, no matter how far or hard he ran.

And he should not attempt to escape it, at all. He was turning soft, sentimental even, towards the redhead, and that was a trait that no assassin should ever bear. It was deadly. Useless to try and convince himself otherwise, as well; the fact that every time he slept her face haunted his dreams was proof enough.

He wasn't…couldn't…be falling for her.

The dark-haired woman gazed long into his eyes, her look slightly sad. A melody of grievance came from the mute musician as well, gentle yet gloomy, in his response.

"Go, then. And I would suggest you to make a speedy return to your Country." With that she turned, her fans slowly opened, revealing detailed etchings and brushstrokes that form delicate images which he had no interest in admiring, "I hear that you are accused of treason, for the murder of some prominent figure not done by your hands. As an Ionian, even I am aware that you work under the orders of the General Marcus Du Couteau, and his alone."

His eyes widened. Oh… _shit_. He had not thought of that.

"If you wish to save the house you have served, and perhaps still remain loyal to, it is best for you to make haste. May the winds speed your way." Stated her in an even voice, and he felt the emerald wall of energy disappearing. Quickly he turned, and the agitated call of Riven sounded from behind.

"Talon, wait—"

"Let him go." Karma's tone remained gentle, though with a sternness that forbade further discussion or argument, "There are other things that we wish to speak with you of, Riven."

He sprinted off without looking back for his fellow Noxian, the morning dew glinting brightly off leaves as his movements shook them. There was no need for the exile to follow, and he did not want her to either. There were always things that had to be taken care of alone.

But alone meant danger. He could not linger on these lands, not after he was known to be here…focusing his eyes in front and his ears for the sound of alien footsteps, Talon sped on with little intention of stopping, towards the direction of the morning sun. He hated the piercing light of it, but it was the best guidance he could hope for.

A ship must be found, fast, to take him off Ionia. He needed to return to Noxus as soon as he possibly could, and though the consequences are surely to be dire, perhaps he still had a chance to stop it from spiraling further out of control.

And he could settle the matter with Katarina.

A knot long formed seemed to slowly melt away. He knew where his responsibility needed him to be, what his loyalty requested him to do. It was painful, yes, but nothing unfamiliar to the assassin. Assassins deliver pain and receive it; that is simply an unchangeable law of nature.

 _Until the next time we meet, Talon_ , she said.

The time is coming now, and he dreads it no more. After weeks on the run…he is prepared to meet her again, and this time his blade would not waver.

He _will_ kill her.


End file.
